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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

FREDERIC  THOMAS  BLANCHARD 

FOR  THE 

ENGLISH  READING  ROOM 


Ubc  ^oDern  Ueacber's  Series 

Edited  by  WILLIAM   CHANDLER   BAGLEY 


THE    LESSON    IN    APPRECIATION 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK    •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO    •    DALLAS 
ATLANTA   -    SAN    FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON    •    BOMBAY    •    CALCITTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

AN    ESSAY   ON   THE   PEDAGOGICS 
OF    BEAUTY 


BY 


FRANK   HERBERT  ^AYWARD,  B.Sc,  D.Lit. 

INSPECTOR   OF   SCHOOLS    FOR   THE    LONDON    COUNTY   COUNCIL 

ENGLAND 

AUTHOR   OF   "THE   SECRET   OF    HERBART" 

"EDUCATIONAL  ADMINISTRATION  AND  CRITICISM,"  ETC. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1922 

All  righii  resetted 


Copyright,  1915, 
By  the   MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  February,  1915. 


NortaooB  JPrfBB 

J.  8.  Cusblng  Co.  —  Berwick  <fe  Smith  Co. 

Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


PREFACE 


The  part  of  this  book  on  which  the  chief  stress  should 
be  laid  is  the  first  part,  in  which  is  discussed  the  teach- 
ing of  poetry.  These  opening  chapters  spring  from 
personal  experience,  observation,  and  reflection.  The 
chapters  on  music  are  an  obvious  pendant  to  the  ones 
that  precede,  while  those  that  follow  are  of  the  nature 
of  a  necessary  though  far  from  satisfactory  appendix. 
In  a  few  years'  time  I  shall  probably  be  able  to  write 
with  far  more  confidence  than  at  present  on  the  peda- 
gogics of  pictorial  and  plastic  art. 

Meanwhile,  in  apology  for  any  faults  or  omissions 
that  the  reader  may  discover,  I  would  point  out  that 
the  literature  of  this  subject  is  scanty  almost  to  non- 
existence. Books  on  aesthetics  there  are  in  abundance ; 
popular  guides  to  music  and  pictures  are  also  numer- 
ous;  but  books  intended  to  help  the  teacher  of  the 
young  child  or  even  of  the  adolescent  have  hardly  yet 
been  produced  by  the  educationists  of  any  land,  the 
reason,  no  doubt,  being  the  confusion  of  purposes 
detected  by  M.  Cousinet  and  referred  to  in  the  last 
chapter. 

The  only  other  word  of  apology  is  concerned  with 
the  predominance  of  British  illustrations  and  examples 
in  my  discussions.  The  predominance  is  not,  I  think, 
outrageously  great,  and  my  friend  Professor  Bagley 
has  helped  to  reduce  it  by  supplying  some  excellent 


VI  PREFACE 

illustrations  drawn  from  American  sources ;  still, 
every  book  that  is  the  result  of  personal  conviction 
rather  than  of  commission  or  requisition  from  without 
must  bear  traces  of  its  origin.  British  educationists 
are  a  quiet  folk  who  rarely  rush  into  print  (let  us  hope 
that,  like  the  famous  but  taciturn  parrot,  they  are 
phenomenally  great  at  "thinking")  and  at  present 
American  books  on  education  are  their  staple  food ; 
if  the  tables  are  turned  in  this  instance  and  American 
readers  are  supplied  with  diet  from  a  British  source, 
I  hope  the  food  will  be  found  at  least  digestible. 

The  series  of  questions  and  quotations  at  the  end 
may  serve  to  stimulate  thought  and  to  suggest  further 
developments  of  the  themes  discussed  in  the  text. 
Indeed,  on  the  basis  of  these  questions  and  quotations 
a  book  twice  the  size  could  easily  be  written. 

I  have  to  thank  Professor  Bagley,  not  only  for  general 
encouragement  in  connection  with  the  production  of 
The  Lesson  in  Appreciation,  but  for  much  help  in 
matters  of  detail.  Though,  before  I  read  his  Educa- 
tional Values,  I  had  been  moving  towards  the  idea  of 
appreciation  as  one  of  our  educational  ends,  it  was 
a  passage  in  that  book  that  gave  the  final  push  to  my 
slowly  gathering  convictions. 

In  accordance  with  the  prescribed  usage,  I  have  to 
announce  that  the  London  County  Council  does  not 
hold  itself  responsible  for  any  of  the  views  of  its 
officers.  F  H  H 

London,  England,  1914. 


INTRODUCTION   TO   THE   SERIES   AND 
TO   THE   PRESENT   VOLUME 

By  the  Editor 

A  GROUP  of  laymen  may  decide  that  it  would  be  advis- 
able to  build  a  bridge  across  Niagara  or  to  drive  a  tunnel 
through  the  Sierras.  An  engineer  is  asked  whether  the 
plan  is  practicable.  He  replies  that  it  is,  and  is  forthwith 
commissioned  to  put  it  into  execution.  He  has  at  his 
command  a  complicated  technique  of  procedure.  He  has 
accurate  means  of  forecasting  stresses  and  strains ;  he 
knows  how  to  construct  caissons  and  piers  and  abutments ; 
he  has  mastered  methods  by  means  of  which  he  can  blast 
rock,  and  remove  debris,  and  drive  a  tunnel  straight  or 
curved,  on  a  level  or  at  a  grade.  He  can  apply  this 
knowledge  to  the  problem  in  hand ;  reduce  it  to  detailed 
specifications ;  and  put  these  specifications  into  the  hands 
of  skilled  workmen  who  will  carry  out  his  directions  to 
the  minutest  detail.  In  a  year  or  two  years  the  bridge 
is  built  or  the  tunnel  bored.  The  result  desired  by  the 
laymen  and  formulated  by  them  in  a  very  general  way 
has  been  accomplished,  but  the  achievement  has  been  in 
virtue  of  the  technical  knowledge  and  skill  that  some  one 
possessed. 

A  group  of  laymen  may  decide  that  the  public  schools 
should  teach  the  rising  generation  how  to  think  straight, 
how  to  behave  themselves  properly,  how  to  make  a  living, 

vii 


vm  INTRODUCTION 

and  how  to  appreciate  the  good  things  of  life.  They 
should  be  able  to  call  in  an  engineer  to  tell  them  whether 
the  desired  result  can  be  obtained.  The  engineer,  once 
he  has  answered  the  question  affirmatively,  should  be  able 
to  lay  down  specifications  and  pass  them  on  to  skilled 
workers  to  carry  out. 

The  analogy  cannot  be  carried  too  far,  but  it  is  sugges- 
tive of  a  real  need  in  education.  We  have  the  educational 
administrator  who  corresponds  roughly  to  the  engineer. 
We  have  the  classroom  teacher  who  corresponds  roughly 
to  the  skilled  worker.  We  have  the  group  of  laymen  — 
a  large  group  known  as  the  Public.  The  public  can  and 
does  express  its  desires  and  wishes.  The  teacher  can, 
in  a  great  many  instances,  work  apparent  miracles ;  if  a 
definite  aim  is  formulated  in  plain,  concrete  terms,  he  or 
she  can  realize  the  aim.  But  the  point  of  vital  weakness 
is  the  almost  complete  lack  in  education  of  anything 
approaching  the  engineer's  ability  to  reduce  a  vague,  half- 
formulated  demand  into  these  simpler,  more  concrete, 
thoroughly  understandable  specifications.  Our  conven- 
tional educational  aims,  it  has  often  been  asserted,  are 
too  general ;  they  oflfer  no  suggestions  that  will  help  the 
teacher  in  carr}ing  them  out ;  they  need  to  be  split  up 
into  more  concrete  aims  that  may  be  interpolated  between 
the  present,  actual,  existing  condition  of  affairs  and  the 
desired  condition.  Lacking  this  important  element  in 
achievement,  the  teacher  labors  under  a  severe  handicap. 
His  or  her  condition  is  quite  analogous  to  that  of  a  group 
of  skilled  workers  who  should  be  asked  to  accomplish, 
unaided  by  engineering  science,  the  task  of  building  a 
bridge   or    tunneling   a    mountain.     The   task    might   be 


INTRODUCTION  IX 

accomplished  even  under  these  conditions,  —  as  many 
tasks  in  education  are  accomplished  under  equally  unfa- 
vorable conditions.  But  it  is  highly  probable  that  the 
bridge  would  fail  to  bear  its  own  weight,  or  that  the  tunnel 

—  even  if  it  did  not  cave  in  before  it  was  completed  — 
would  be  badly  "  out  of  plumb."  And  the  outcomes  of 
teaching  are  often  characterized  by  analogous  defects. 

In  the  series  of  books  of  which  the  present  volume  is 
the  initial  number,  an  attempt  will  be  made  to  provide 
something  akin  to  specifications  for  some  of  the  more 
common  tasks  that  the  teacher  is  asked  or  commanded 
to  assume.  The  present  volume  is,  indeed,  typical  of 
what  the  editor  has  had  in  mind  in  planning  the  series. 
For  a  good  many  years  there  has  been  a  demand  for  a 
kind  of  education  that  would  help  to  raise  the  general 
standard  of  public  taste.  Forthwith  certain  "  subjects  " 
have  been  introduced  into  the  school  program.  This  is 
our  customary  procedure  in  solving  educational  problems, 

—  and  this  is  about  as  far  as  "  specifications  "  have  ever 
gone  in  education.  Shall  we  guard  our  rising  generation 
against  the  evils  of  bad  literature  and  bad  drama  ?  Obvi- 
ously this  is  a  duty  of  the  school.  Very  well ;  "  teach  " 
the  pupil  "to  appreciate  "  good  literature  and  good  drama 
and  good  poetry.  Shall  we  protect  our  children  against 
the  cheap,  the  tawdry,  the  suggestive,  and  the  degrading 
in  pictorial  art  and  in  music  ?  Then  "  teach "  the 
"  appreciation  "  of  good  art  and  good  music  in  the  schools. 

This  seems  to  be  a  simple  order  that  any  intelligent 
teacher  might  easily  fulfill.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  a 
very  large  order,  and  that  is  one  reason  why  the  results 
have  not  been  altogether  satisfactory.     It  is  very  far  from 


X  INTRODUCTION 

an  easy  task.  Building  a  bridge  across  Niagara,  indeed, 
is  not  unfairly  to  be  compared  with  it  in  point  of  difficulty. 

It  is  this  problem  of  aesthetic  education  that  Dr.  Hay- 
ward  has  attacked.  He  has  taught  little  children,  and 
knows  how  hard  it  is  to  do  some  things  that  seem  very 
easy  when  looked  at  from  a  safe  point  of  vantage.  He 
has  studied  the  principles  of  aesthetics.  He  has  mastered 
the  principles  of  psychology  bearing  upon  this  problem  so 
far  as  these  have  been  worked  out.  He  has  observed  and 
studied  the  work  of  teachers  who  have,  through  struggle 
and  effort,  succeeded  in  bridging  Niagaras,  and  he  has 
brought  to  the  service  of  his  readers  the  lessons  of  these 
fortunate  experiences.  His  work  deals  with  a  "  practical  " 
problem  in  a  "  practical  "  way,  —  but  it  does  not  shrink 
from  the  presentation  of  theory  when  theory  will  enlighten 
the  practice. 

This,  in  general,  is  the  plan  that  the  editor  hopes  to 
follow  in  the  books  of  this  series.  Each  will  deal  specif- 
ically with  some  vital  problem  of  teaching.  The  topics, 
in  the  main,  will  be  those  large  and  comprehensive 
tasks  which  are  persistently  pressed  upon  school  teachers 
for  solution,  but  which  demand  re-formulation  in  simpler 
terms  before  they  can  be  successfully  worked  out.  The 
aim  will  be  to  present  definite  and  often  detailed  sugges- 
tions for  actual  teaching.  Sometimes  these  suggestions 
will  be  in  the  nature  of  "  working  plans,"  but  more  often 
they  will  of  necessity  be  concrete  illustrations  of  principles 
rather  than  rule-of-thumb  directions  for  practice.  After 
all,  it  is  here  that  the  teacher  differs  fundamentally  from 
the  artisan.  In  dealing,  as  the  teacher  does,  with  human 
materials,  ready-made  devices  often  fail  to  "  work  "  when 


INTRODUCTION  XI 

they  have  been  lifted  from  their  original  setting  and 
applied  to  new  situations.  Human  minds  cannot  be 
standardized,  like  steel  or  concrete,  but  the  teacher  has 
a  right  to  demand  principles  that  can  be  illustrated  by 
clear,  definite,  and  typical  applications ;  and  principles  of 
this  sort,  abundantly  illustrated,  this  series  will  attempt 
to  furnish. 

Two  books  will,  it  is  hoped,  quickly  follow  the  publica- 
tion of  the  present  volume.  One  will  be  concerned  with 
the  problem  of  school  discipline,  and  the  development  of 
the  habits,  attitudes,  and  ideals  of  order,  industry,  and 
self-control  that  are  so  essential  not  only  to  successful 
school  work  but  to  right  living  and  efficient  work  in  adult 
life.  The  other  will  discuss  the  problem  of  study  —  another 
of  those  large  and  comprehensive  tasks  that  the  school 
must  assume,  but  which  it  is  hopeless  to  attack  unless  we 
analyze  it  into  subordinate  and  specific  problems  which 
can  be  formulated  in  concrete  terms.  Other  books  in 
prospect  or  in  preparation  will  treat  of  habit-formation 
and  the  skill  outcomes  of  education ;  the  problem  of  training 
pupils  to  think ;  and  the  problem  of  socializing  school  life. 

W.  C.  B. 

Urbana,  Illinois, 
June,  1914, 


TABLE    OF   CONTENTS 

PAGB 

Preface    v 

Introduction vii 

Chapter  I.    The  Principle  of  the  First  Impression. 

Subtlety  of  the  subject.  —  The  first  impression  a  privi- 
leged impression.  —  Red-letter  lessons.  —  The  personal 
qualities  of  the  teacher  as  affecting  appreciation        .         .         1 

Chapter  II.     Enemies  in  the  Gate. 

Working  up  excitement :  a  passage  from  Wagner.  — 
Distraction  the  supreme  enemy.  —  Distraction  destroys 
the  unity  of  the  work  of  art.  —  Getting  rid  of  intellectual 
distraction.  —  Bad  artistic  workmanship.  —  The  distrac- 
tion of  technique.  —  But  technique  is  necessary.  —  The 
view  of  M.  Cousinet 9 

Chapter  III.  Some  Principles  of  Music  and  Poetry. 
Substance  vs.  form  in  art :  Art  for  art's  sake.  — 
Decorative  vs.  expressional  music.  —  Prose  vs.  poetry. 
—  Metaphors  and  similes.  —  New  possibilities  of  artistic 
expression.  —  Rhythm  in  poetry  and  in  prose.  —  English 
poetry  does  not  follow  the  classical  forms  of  prosody.  — 
Modern  experiments  in  art  form 24 

Chapter  IV.     Positive  or  Constructive  Preparation. 
Grouping  ideas  together  as  a  source  of  aesthetic  pleas- 
ure. —  Analysis  of   some   metaphors.  —  Reviving  attenu- 
ated   and    lost   meanings.  —  Practical  corollary  :    pioneer 
the  metaphor. — The  employment  of  familiarity         .         .       39 

Chapter  V.    The  Threshold  of  the  Lesson  —  and  Over. 
Wagner   again.  —  Immediate   preparation.  —  The   five 
"  formal  steps."  —  Preparing  the  mind  and  the  mood         .       51 

xiii 


xiv  TABLE  OF   CONTENTS 

Chapter  VI.    The  Hour  of  Appreciation.  pagb 

A  criticism  of  the  precept,  "  Read  as  if  you  were  talk- 
ing."—  Bernard  Shaw's  opinion  of  the  elocutionist. — 
Two  rules  for  expression.  —  The  pronunciation  of  proper 
names.  —  Classical  meters.  —  The  preservation  of  poet- 
ical units.  — The  "  flavor"  of  words  and  the  cause  of  it. — 
Repetition.  —  Milton's  mastery  of  words.  —  The  poetry  of 
Swinburne.  —  Rhythm  and  meaning.  —  The  function  of 
the  pause.  —  Other  rhetorical  effects  ....       61 

Chapter  VII.    The  Final  Stages. 

Dangers  in  "  stages." —  Stage  five  :  aesthetic  discussion. 
— ^  The  induction  of  aesthetic  principles      ....       83 

Chapter  VIII.     The  Finai,  View  of  the  Lesson. 

Stage  six  :  Intellectual  discussion  or  the  exposition  of 
meaning.  —  Reading  by  pupils.  —  Learning  by  heart.  — 
Reference  to  the  printed  book.  —  Summary       ...       91 

Chapter  IX.     Possibilities. 

The  biographical  element  in  appreciation. —  Art  for 
art's  sake?  —  The  elements  of  truth  in  the  dictum.  —  The 
advantage  of  multiplying  significances.  —  Proportion  in 
dealing  with  biographical  materials.  —  Concrete  illustra- 
tions. —  The  teaching  of  epics  and  dramas         ...       99 

Chapter  X.     Some  Principles  of  Music. 

The  social  significance  of  musical  appreciation.  —  The 
principle  of  repetition.  —  The  principle  of  contrast. — 
Variety  in  repetition.  —  The  principle  of  association. — 
The  "Leitmotif."  —  The  importance  of  the  introduction. 
—  Intermediate  and  concluding  passages  ....     113 

Chapter  XI.     The  Teaching  of  Music. 

The  evil  of  formalism  in  teaching  music.  —  Absurdities 
of  the  "  time  "  and  "  tune  "  tests.  —  The  place  of  technique 
in  musical  appreciation.  —  The  principle  of  the  first  im- 
pression in  musical  appreciation.  —  Precautions  against 
the  distraction  enemy.  —  Suggestions         ....     127 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS  XV 

Chapter  XII.  Principles  of  Pictorial  Art.  page 
The  principle  of  unity  or  principality.  —  Devices  for 
insuring  the  effect  of  unity.  —  Unity  may  be  destroyed  by 
excess  of  detail.  —  The  principle  of  balance.  —  Variety 
in  unity.  —  Other  principles  :  repetition,  symmetry,  radia- 
tion, interchange 140 

Chapter  XIII.     The  Teaching  of  Art  Appreciation. 

M.  Cousinet's  principles.  —  M.  Cousinet's  method. — 
Professor  De  Garmo's  theory  of  teaching  appreciation.  — 
Utility  vs.  beauty  in  the  teaching  of  appreciation.  — 
Practical  suggestions :  the  biographical  treatment,  and 
symbolism.  —  Interpretations  and  problems.  —  The  appre- 
ciation of  ornamentation.  —  The  appreciation  of  statuary. 

—  Applied  art 148 

Chapter  XIV.     The  Modern  Drama  and  the  Novel. 

The  modern  drama:  abolition  of  the  sohloquy. —  The 
dramatic  unities.  —  Variety  in  unity.  —  Comedy  and  farce. 

—  The  novel. — -The  treatment  of  the  novel  in  schools. — 
The  problem  element  in  novels.  —  The  aesthetic  element 

in  novels.  —  The  art  of  story- telling  .....     165 

Chapter  XV.     The  Polemics  of  Appreciation. 

The  genesis  of  the  appreciation  lesson.  —  The  social 
need  of  training  in  appreciation.  —  The  gulf  between 
modern  artists  and  the  masses.  —  Arguments  against  the 
attempt  to  "  teach  "  appreciation.  —  Evidences  of  the  need 
for  aesthetic  guidance.  —  The  doctrine  of  inner  growth.  — 
The  by-product  theory.  —  Direct  vs.  indirect  methods.  — 
Experimental  aesthetics.  —  Confirmation  of  the  principle 
of  distraction. —  Appreciation  of  pictures  .         .         .     178 

Appendix  A.     Questions,  Exercises,  and  Quotations. 

Appendix  B.     A  Selected  Bibliography. 

Appendix  C.     Key  to  A. 


THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

CHAPTER  I 
THE   PRINCIPLE   OF  THE   FIRST  IMPRESSION 

Subtlety  of  the  subject.  —  The  mechanism  by  which 
we  appreciate  is  probably  subtler  than  those  mecha- 
nisms by  which  we  perform  most  other  mental  acts.  In 
reasoning,  for  example,  there  is  always  a  problem.  ^ 
to  be  solved,  a  situation  to  be  met,  a  purpose  to  be 
realized.  We  then  reflect  upon  the  resources  that  may 
aid  in  the  solution  of  the  problem  or  the  realization 
of  the  purpose,  "  thinking  through  "  the  possible  ways 
in  which  these  means  may  be  adapted  to  the  end 
that  we  desire.  Reasoning  or  thinking  is  a  delayed, 
a  deliberate  process,  sufficiently  pedestrian  to  seem 
devoid  of  mysteriousness.^  But  appreciation,  both 
aesthetic  and  moral,  seems  often  to  come  as  a  subtle 
dawn  or  a  sudden  flash.  In  the  oft-quoted  words 
of  Browning:  — 

^  The  German  term  Aufgabe  has  a  considerable  vogue.  See 
Titchener's  Experimental  Psychology  of  the  Thought  Processes.  Also 
below,  p.  13,  on  Appreciation  v.  Intellection. 

2  There  is,  however,  a  "  flash  "  of  imagination  or  interpretation 
in  discovery  and  invention.     See  note  above. 
B  I 


2  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

"  There's  a  sunset  touch, 
A  fancy  from  a  fiowerbell,  some  one's  death, 
A  chorus-ending  from  Euripides ; ' ' 

and  these  things  rap  and  knock  at  the  soul  in  ways 
so  unforeseen  that  it  is  not  a  matter  of  surprise  to 
find  appreciation  regarded  by  many  people  as  some- 
thing too  personal  and  intangible  to  be  susceptible 
to  actual  training  in  schools  or  other  institutions. 
The  spirit  here  seems  to  "  blow  where  it  listeth  " ; 
beauty  is  "  a  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land." 

But  something  can  be  done.  The  process,  as  we 
shall  soon  discover,  is  not  wholly  mysterious.  Sooner 
or  later,  in  all  probability,  mankind  will  not  only  un- 
derstand it,  but  will  exploit  it  in  the  interests  of 
human  happiness.  Certainly  there  are  some  prin- 
ciples of  appreciation  upon  which  there  can  be  no 
debate,  and  the  first  of  these  forms  the  caption  of 
the  present  chapter. 

The  first  impression  is  a  privileged  impression. — 
How  significant  first  impressions  are  to  our  concrete, 
everyday  life  each  can  testify  from  his  own  experi- 
ence ;  and  the  same  principle  operates  in  the  realm  of 
art.  The  first  impression  of  a  poem,  a  song,  and,  — 
though  perhaps  to  less  extent,  —  a  picture,  a  statue, 
and  a  building  is  a  privileged  impression ;  not  only 
does  the  impression  seem  more  unsophisticated  and 
spontaneous,  but  it  is  actually  more  intense,  as  a 
rule,  than  any  subsequent  impression,  and  its  influ- 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  THE  FIRST  IMPRESSION        3 

ence  on  life  and  taste  is  usually  far  greater.  For 
these  reasons  the  first  impression  is  of  extraordinary 
pedagogical  importance,  and  the  failure  of  educa- 
tionists to  recognize  its  importance  is  a  measure  of 
the  failure  of  education  in  the  task  of  teaching  appre- 
ciation. 

As  has  been  suggested,  this  principle  is  one  that  applies 
to  every  phase  of  human  experience.  It  applies  to  interviews 
between  man  and  man,  between  candidates  for  appointment 
and  committees  of  selection,  between  superintendents  and 
inspectors  and  teachers.  "Love  at  first  sight"  —  and  dislike 
at  first  sight  —  are  important  illustrations  of  it,  and  biography 
is  full  of  evidence  that  confirms  it.  Our  first  view  of  the  sea 
or  of  the  mountains  or  of  a  foreign  country  is  a  notable  event 
in  our  lives.  Many  of  us  remember  exceptionally  well  the 
plants  that  bloom  earliest  in  the  spring,  or  the  first  chapter  of 
a  book  that  we  have  read,  or  our  first  lesson  in  Latin,  or  our 
first  day  in  a  new  school  or  a  new  employment.  Every 
American  knows  when  Columbus  discovered  America,  and  the 
reason  is  not  merely  the  importance  of  that  date  but  the  fact 
that  it  is  the  first  that  he  learns  in  school.  Every  English 
teacher  knows  more  about  Julius  Caesar  and  the  ancient 
Britons  than  about  the  Chartists  of  1848. 

The  pedagogy  of  the  first  impression  is  often  neglected  in 
the  teaching  of  subjects  other  than  hterature  and  art.  In  the 
first  lessen  on  oxygen,  for  example,  the  initial  details  of  prepa- 
ration (the  mixing  of  the  potassium  chlorate  and  the  manganese 
dioxide)  assume,  in  the  eyes  of  the  pupils,  an  exaggerated 
importance  simply  because  they  are  initial;  while  the  main 
purpose  of  the  lesson,  the  demonstration  of  the  qualities  of 
oxygen,  being  relegated  to  a  less  impressive  place,  is  often 


4  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

missed.  Possibly  we  should  begin  with  the  jars  of  gas  ready- 
prepared.  In  one  of  his  delightful  essays,  Samuel  McChord 
Crothers  calls  attention  to  the  first  lesson  that  he  learned  in 
geography,  —  a  lesson  devoted  to  a  demonstration  of  the 
earth's  rotundity,  —  and  contrasts  the  vivid  impression  that 
this  important  fact  made  upon  his  mind  with  the  impression 
that  he  (with  some  justice)  assumes  the  same  fact  to  make 
on  the  minds  of  contemporary  school  children  after  several 
months  devoted  to  rather  less  significant  data. 

Many  a  printed  book,  too,  suffers  because  the  first  impres- 
sion conveyed  by  its  introductory  chapters  is  feeble  and  un- 
satisfactory, and  many  a  drama  has  been  ruined  by  a  weak 
first  act. 

Certainly  in  the  lesson  in  aesthetic  appreciation  the 
principle  of  the  first  impression  is  all-important,  and 
the  best  advice  that  can  be  given  to  a  teacher  of  appre- 
ciation is  that  he  should  lavish  care  and  thought  upon 
making  the  first  impression  which  the  child  receives 
from  a  work  of  art  a  powerful  impression,  and  that 
the  greater  the  work  of  art,  the  greater  the  amoimt 
of  care  and  thought  he  should  lavish.  Poetry  or 
music  that  is  commonplace  may  (if  treated  at  all)  be 
treated  in  a  commonplace  fashion  ;  but  the  higher 
the  materials  with  which  he  deals  rise  above  the  level 
of  the  commonplace,  the  higher  ought  the  teacher's 
method  also  to  rise. 

Red-letter  lessons.  —  It  is  a  great  mistake  to 
suppose  that  all  lessons  are  equally  important  and 
should   receive   equally   elaborate   treatment.     Some 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  THE  FIRST  IMPRESSION        5 

lessons  should  be  —  must  be  —  routine  lessons,  stop- 
gap, preparatory,  recapitulatory,  memoriter  lessons, 
perhaps  almost  humdrum  in  their  lack  of  exceptional 
qualities.^  But  some  should  be,  both  for  the  class, 
and  for  the  teacher,  epoch-making  lessons  which  he 
dreams  about  in  prospect  and  they  dream  about  in 
retrospect.  It  is  the  respectable  and  creditable 
mediocrity,  not  the  badness  or  goodness,  of  much 
school  work  that  strikes  intelligent  observers  most, 
and  it  is  this  consistent  and  conscientious  mediocrity 
that  takes  the  heart  out  of  the  teacher  himself.  He 
refuses  to  respond  to  the  exhortations  of  educational 
prophets  because  he  knows  that  many  details  of  his 
school  work  must  inevitably  be  of  a  routine  nature, 
and  it  is  hard  to  be  enthusiastic,  it  is  hard  "  to  express 
his  individuality,"  in  connection  with  such  things. 
And  the  prophets  themselves  usually  have  no  formula 
for  generating  the  enthusiasm  they  desire.  But 
there  is  a  formula,  and  it  is  this  formula  of  the  epoch- 
making  lesson.  Many  lessons  must  necessarily  show 
little  but  mediocrity  in  the  amoimt  of  brilliance  that 
they  reveal  to  the  expectant  observer.  But  let  us  in- 
sist that,  here  and  there  in  the  school  week,  or  month, 
or  year,  will  occur  lessons,  particularly  lessons  in  ap- 
preciation, which  ought  to  stand  out  as  notable  events 
in  the  memory  of  teacher  and  pupil. 

1  Professor  Adams  has  drawn  the  same  distinction  in  recommend- 
ing that  some  lessons  should  be  "dull." 


6  THE   LESSON   IN  APPRECIATION 

Such  lessons  would  serve  three  purposes,  each  of 
large  importance  in  its  own  domain.  First,  they  would 
provide  supervisors  and  administrators  with  op- 
portunities for  judging  a  teacher's  work  at  its  high- 
water  mark,  not  merely  at  its  medium  levels.  Now 
the  high-water  mark  of  a  teacher's  ability  is  one  of 
the  best  indications  of  his  caliber ;  —  "  It  is  our  best 
moments  —  not  our  worst  —  that  reveal  our  true 
selves."  In  the  second  place,  these  lessons  would 
render  the  teacher's  Ufe  more  interesting,  because 
more  varied  by  hills,  plains,  slopes,  summits,  visions, 
and  vistas ;  every  day  would  not  be  like  every  other 
day.  In  the  third  place,  such  lessons  would  be  epoch- 
making  in  the  lives  of  the  pupils. 

Certainly  these  lessons  should  not  be  confined  to 
the  field  of  art.  Science  and  history  afford  many  op- 
portunities for  thrill  and  climax,  and  even  the  teaching 
of  mathematics  should  not  be  devoid  of  its  mountain 
peaks.  But  the  opportunities  will  perhaps  be  more 
frequent  in  connection  with  art ;  and  in  any  case  the 
educational  treatment  of  a  work  of  art  illustrates  most 
clearly  the  necessity  for  lessons  of  this  type.  To  spoil 
a  work  of  beauty  by  clumsy  or  hasty  presentation  is 
an  aesthetic  crime  of  large  magnitude.  The  teacher 
who  commits  it  deserves  Uttle  mercy,  just  as,  con- 
versely, he  who  rises  to  the  full  majesty  of  the  occasion 
deserves  all  the  recognition  and  reward  that  our  edu- 
cational systems  can  supply. 


THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  THE  FIRST  IMPRESSION        7 

The  personal  qualities  of  the  teacher.  —  It  is  clear, 
too,  that  some  teachers  are  not  fitted,  by  training  or 
by  constitution,  to  give  these  lessons.  Harsh  voices, 
lethargic  attitudes,  neurotic  gestures,  should  not  be 
associated  with  the  pupil's  first  impression  of  a  great 
work  of  art.  "I  shall  think  the  worse  of  fat  men," 
said  Mistress  Ford,  after  learning  the  infamy  of  Sir 
John  Falstaff,  "  so  long  as  I  have  an  eye  to  make 
difference  of  men's  liking."  Wagner  in  a  passage  of 
his  Autobiography  tells  us  that,  at  an  early  age,  he  con- 
ceived a  strong  prejudice  against  the  Italian  tongue, 
whether  spoken  or  sung,  merely  as  the  result  of  an 
unfavorable  impression  made  upon  him  by  a  male 
soprano,  "  a  huge  pot-bellied  giant,"  who  had  horrified 
him  with  his  effeminate  voice,  his  astonishing  volubil- 
ity, and  his  incessant,  screeching  laughter.  There  is 
plenty  of  room  in  school  for  teachers  fat  as  well  as 
teachers  lean,  teachers  with  loud  voices  as  well  as 
teachers  with  soft  voices,  and  various  other  forms  of 
physical  unfitness  may  be  thrown  into  the  background 
by  genuine  beauty  of  character.  Mere  external 
charm  or  freedom  from  blemish  may  coexist  with 
mental  or  moral  qualities  that  make  the  teacher's 
influence  most  unfortunate  ;  and,  conversely,  apparent 
defects  may  sometimes  be  real  assets.  But  the  prin- 
ciple remains :  if  the  first  lesson  —  the  privileged 
lesson  —  on  a  poem  or  a  song  or  a  picture  is  to  be  of 
the  "  red-letter  "   type   here  intended,   care  should 


8  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

be  taken  to  exclude  every  unfavorable  circumstance. 
As  the  minds  of  the  pupils  play  in  retrospect  around 
the  lesson,  there  should  not  come,  if  we  can  prevent 
it,  a  single  harsh  or  discordant  association, — no 
memory  of  a  rasping  voice,  an  unsvTnpathetic  face, 
a  gloomy  day,  a  crowded  or  an  ugly  classroom,  or 
a  morning  hour  broken  by  a  dozen  interruptions  from 
the  outside. 


CHAPTER  II 
ENEMIES  IN  THE   GATE 

Let  us  assume  that  one  of  these  "  red-letter " 
lessons  is  to  be  given.  A  first  impression  is  to  be  made 
which,  we  hope,  will  be  indelible.  We  wish  to  make 
the  lesson  the  starting  point  of  a  new  and  powerful 
interest.  How  can  this  end  be  effected  ?  The  enemies 
to  appreciation  are,  perhaps,  subtle  and  numerous. 
How  are  they  to  be  overcome? 

Working  up  excitement :  A  passage  from  Wagner. 
—  In  some  cases  it  will  be  possible  to  work  up  what 
we  may  call  anticipatory  interest  or  excitement.  We 
all  know  the  tricks  of  advertisers,  —  a  most  instructive 
topic  for  teachers  to  study.  If  an  exhibition  is  to  be 
opened  or  a  new  play  to  be  produced,  the  management 
will  take  measures  to  arouse  the  expectation  of  the 
public  long  before  the  opening.  "  Inspired  "  news 
items  will  appear  in  the  papers ;  Httle  concrete  and 
personal  anecdotes  will  keep  the  general  topic  in  the 
public  mind ;  and  at  the  "  psychological  moment  " 
ambitious  posters  will  flare  from  the  hoardings. 
Preliminary  interest  is,  as  it  were,  a  marketable  com- 
modity with  a  money  value  of  its  own.     And  if  it 

9 


lO  THE  LESSON   IN  APPRECIATION 

has  this  value  in  the  general  scheme  of  life  there  is 
no  doubt  that  it  rests  upon  a  fundamental  principle 
of  human  nature  which  education  may  be  able  to  turn 
to  its  own  ends.     Let  us  see. 

Wagner,  in  the  Autobiography  already  quoted, 
describes  how,  early  in  his  career,  he  worked  up  an 
effective  preliminary  interest  in  a  forthcoming  per- 
formance of  Beethoven's  Ninth  Symphony. 

"In  the  first  place,  I  drew  up  a  program,  for  which  the  book 
of  words  for  the  chorus  furnished  me  with  a  good  pretext.  I 
did  this  in  order  to  provide  a  guide  to  the  simple  understanding 
of  the  work,  and  thereby  hoped  to  appeal,  not  to  the  critical 
judgment,  but  solely  to  the  feeUngs  of  the  audience.  Be- 
sides this,  I  made  use  of  the  [Dresden]  newspaper  by  writing 
all  kinds  of  short  and  anonymous  paragraphs,  in  order  to 
whet  the  public  taste  for  the  work.  Concerning  the  artistic 
side  of  the  performance,  I  aimed  at  making  the  orchestra 
give  as  expressive  a  rendering  as  possible,  and  to  this  end 
made  all  kinds  of  notes  myself  in  the  various  parts,  so  as  to 
make  sure  that  their  interpretation  would  be  as  clear  and  as 
colored  as  could  be  desired.  ...  I  tried  to  get  the  three 
hundred  singers  into  a  state  of  genuine  ecstasy ;  for  instance, 
I  succeeded  in  demonstrating  to  the  basses  that  the  celebrated 
passage  .  .  .  could  not  be  sung  in  an  ordinary  manner,  but 
must,  as  it  were,  be  proclaimed  with  the  greatest  rapture. 
I  also  took  care  that,  by  means  of  the  complete  reconstruction 
of  the  hall,  I  should  obtain  good  acoustic  conditions  for  the 
orchestra." 

Wagner  inserted  in  the  local  press  "  all  kinds  of 
short  and  anonymous  paragraphs  in  order  to  whet  the 


ENEMIES  IN  THE   GATE  II 

public  taste  "  for  the  forthcoming  performance.  This 
may  not  be  the  noblest  or  the  subtlest  way  of  pre- 
paring a  class  for  a  future  lesson,  and  indeed  Wagner, 
as  he  tells  us,  used  other  and  higher  methods.  But  it 
is  thoroughly  legitimate  to  apply  in  teaching  the  gen- 
eral principle  here  exemplified.  One  may  drop  occa- 
sional hints  that  something  exceptional  or  extraor- 
dinary in  the  way  of  a  lesson  is  to  occur  at  some 
definite  time  in  the  future ;  and  these  hints,  perhaps, 
will  serve  their  purpose  best  if  introduced  incidentally 
in  connection  with  other  matters. 

The  skillful  teacher,  then,  will  sometimes  manipu- 
late other  lessons  in  the  interest  of  this  red-letter 
lesson  in  appreciation.  For  example,  a  character 
that  is  referred  to,  an  episode  that  is  recounted  in  the 
history  lesson  may  lend  itself  to  exploitation  in  this 
forward-looking  way :  "On  next  Wednesday,  we 
shall  study  a  great  poem  written  by  this  man  " ;  or 
a  phrase  or  quotation  may  be  brought  in  for  purposes 
of  illustration,  and  then  :  "  Before  long  you  shall  hear 
in  a  lesson  who  used  those  words  for  the  first  time; 
it  was  a  great  man,  a  wonderful  occasion."  .  .  . 

How  much  more  interesting  school  work  would  be, 
both  for  teacher  and  for  pupil,  if  there  were  more  of 
this  element  of  anticipation!  Even  the  teacher's 
wife  would  find  her  husband  less  dull  if  she  heard  from 
him,  not  only  about  the  jealousies  of  colleagues  and 
the  blindness  of  supervisors  and  superiors,  but  also 


12  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

about  the  great  lesson  coming  off  next  Monday ! 
Quite  conceivably,  too,  she  might  give  him  some  use- 
ful suggestions.  Better  salaries,  better  prospects  of 
promotion,  better  conditions  of  work,  —  these  things 
are  needed ;  but  vistas  are  needed,  too,  and  artistic 
enthusiasms,  variety,  crisis,  consummation,  success; 
for  it  is  these  things  that  give  hfe  its  color  and  make 
it  worth  while ;  and  of  these  in  our  school  work  there 
is  often  a  great  barrenness. 

Distraction  the  supreme  enemy.  —  But  now  let  us 
advance  a  step  further.  The  lesson  is  to  be  given  on 
such  or  such  a  day.  But  an  enemy  is  on  the  watch 
ready  to  spoil  the  first  impression  and  indeed  every 
producible  impression.  It  is  therefore  the  teacher's 
task  to  take  sword  in  hand  and  show  no  quarter.  This 
enemy  is  distraction. 

The  psychologists  have  known  of  his  existence 
longer  than  the  educationists.  A  pleasurable  emotion, 
they  tell  us,  is  easily  destroyed.  A  cold  draught  of 
air,  a  rasping  noise,  a  haunting  memory,  —  and  the 
spell  is  broken.  The  forms  which  distraction  assume 
are  legion,  but  one  in  particular  is  deadly  to  the  lesson 
in  appreciation.  This  is  intellectual  distraction,  — 
the  "  critical  judgment  "  as  Wagner  terms  it  in  the 
passage  just  quoted.  We  cannot  appreciate  a  work 
of  art  if  we  are  worrying  over  unsolved  problems; 
if  the  unfamiliar,  the  ambiguous,  or  the  inconsistent 
in  what  we  are  contemplating  persists  in  irritating  us ; 


ENEMIES   IN  THE  GATE  13 

if  extraneous  stimuli,  unrelated  to  the  poem  or  the 
symphony  or  the  picture,  intrude  themselves  upon 
our  attention.  Art  is  a  jealous  mistress,  —  whether 
to  those  who  create  or  to  those  who  contemplate. 

The  process  of  appreciation  here  differs  absolutely  from 
the  intellectual,  investigatory,  or  inventive,  processes.  In 
these  latter  everything  depends  on  a  problem  or  Aufgabe, 
which  is  variously  described  by  writers  like  Dewey,  Titchener, 
and  McMurry  as  arising  from  a  "strained  situation,"  a 
"felt  difficulty,"  "conditions  that  are  unsatisfactory,"  a 
"bafflement,"  a  "vague  discomfort,"  and  so  forth.  The 
whole  process  is  perhaps  most  clearly  seen  in  the  records  of 
criminal  detectives.  The  first  stage  of  it  is  the  discovery  of 
a  mystery  or  problem  to  be  solved,  the  second  stage  is  a  hunt- 
ing around  for  clews,  the  third  stage  the  discovery  of  a  clew 
or  the  formulation  of  an  hypothesis  (this  often  comes  "with  a 
flash"),  the  fourth  stage  the  working  out  of  the  implications 
of  the  hypothesis,  the  fifth  the  testing  of  the  hypothesis  by  a 
comparison  with  objective  facts.  It  will  be  seen  that  the  five 
steps  of  the  detective  process  are  very  similar  to  the  "five 
steps  "  of  the  Herbartians.  Appreciation  differs  from  intellection 
mainly  in  the  early  stage  of  the  process,  the  principle  of  the 
first  impression  being  all-important  in  the  case  of  the  former. 
Later  we  shall  see  that  intellectual  factors  may  be  exploited 
in  connection  with  appreciation. 

Distraction  destroys  the  unity  of  the  work  of  art.  — 

Distraction  kills  appreciation  because  it  destroys  the 
unity  which  is  the  soul  of  art  in  every  one  of  its  various 
forms.  In  a  masterpiece  of  painting,  every  line  and 
every  pigment  contributes  something  that  is   essential 


14  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

/  to  the  total  effect.  In  a  great  poem  every  word 
fulfills  a  purpose  with  reference  to  the  larger  purpose 
of  the  work  as  a  whole.  In  a  great  drama  or  a  great 
novel  each  character  and  each  incident  plays  its  own 
essential  part  in  the  development  of  the  plot.  .Es- 
thetic creation  is  marked  at  every  point  by  restraint,  — 
by  economy  of  materials ;  not  niggardly  economy 
that  fears  to  waste,  but  an  economy  that  recognizes 
the  supreme  danger  of  obtruding  non-essentials. 
For  non-essentials  distract;  they  raise  their  own 
problems  to  the  forefront  and  so  negate  the  purpose 
for  which  the  work  exists. 

"Every  man  that  can  paint  at  all,"  says  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds in  his  Discourses,  "can  execute  individual  parts;  but  to 
keep  these  parts  in  due  proportion  and  relative  to  a  whole  re- 
quires a  comprehensive  view  of  art  that  more  strongly  implies 
genius  than  perhaps  any  quality  whatever." 

Getting  rid  of  intellectual   distraction.  —  We  are 

trying  to  insure  appreciation  of  a  poem  by  our  pupils. 
But  there  are  many  hard  words  in  the  poem,  and  at 
every  step  the  child  is  puzzled  and  distracted.  The 
poem  either  conveys  no  meaning  to  him,  or,  here  and 
there,  some  wildly  erroneous  meaning.  The  teacher, 
struggling  with  the  difficulty,  conscientiously  explains 
one  word  after  another,  and  the  literature  lesson 
becomes  an  exercise  composed  around  the  formula, 
"  What  is  the  meaning  of ?  "  Little  real  appre- 
ciation can  arise  in  these  circumstances.     The   mind 


ENEMIES  IN  THE   GATE  15 

of  the  pupil  is  continually  upon  the  stretch  if  not  upon 
the  jerk.  The  poem,  as  has  been  said,  is  a  unity, 
else  it  is  not  worth  teaching.  Light  and  shade  and 
line  and  pigment  exist  in  it,  though  we  call  them  by 
other  names,  —  emphasis,  cHmax,  metaphor,  —  and 
just  as  it  would  be  folly  to  cut  a  painting  into  frag- 
ments in  order  to  study  it,  so  it  is  folly  to  cut  a  poem 
into  words  in  order  to  study  it.  Yet  if  a  teacher  is 
constantly  discussing  meanings  or  explaining  ob- 
scurities he  is  necessarily  committing  this  folly. 

What,  then,  is  to  be  done?  One  is  sometimes 
tempted  to  say,  Drop  all  serious  attempts  to  teach 
Hterature  in  the  lower  classes  ;  do  humble  things  there, 
and  lavish,  really  lavish,  your  efforts  at  awakening 
appreciation  on  the  older  pupils.  But  the  solution 
is  drastic,  for,  after  all,  a  start  must  be  made,  and 
indeed  the  situation  is  not  so  hopeless  as  it  looks ; 
we  may  take  a  leaf  from  the  book  of  Wagner's  ex- 
perience and  prepare  in  advance  for  the  difficulties  of 
the  situation. 

I  lay  stress  upon  this.  It  is  a  type  of  far-ahead 
preparation  which  though  unrecognized  in  our  books 
on  school  methods  is  bound  to  become  an  element 
in  the  technique  of  successful  teachers  of  appreciation. 
The  works  of  art  that  are  studied  in  the  schools  are 
comparatively  few  in  number.  It  is  quite  within  the 
capacity  of  every  teacher  who  attempts  work  of  this 
sort  to  catalogue  the  difficult  words,  the  inverted  or 


l6  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

unusual  phrases,  the  obscure  references  that  a  poem 
involves.  These  can  then  be  introduced  before  the 
lesson  proper  is  given  so  as  to  insure  some  familiarity 
through  repetition  and  practice  before  the  "  great 
day  "  comes. 

"  I  drew  up,"  says  Wagner,  "  a  program.  ...  I 
did  this  in  order  to  provide  a  guide  to  the  simple 
understanding  of  the  work,  and  thereby  to  appeal 
[when  the  performance  was  given],  not  to  the  critical 
judgment  but  solely  to  the  feelings  of  the  audience." 
The  purely  intellectual  part  of  the  work,  then,  was 
finished  beforehand,  and  when  the  time  for  apprecia- 
tion came,  the  whole  heart  and  soul  could  be  given  to 
the  pure  enjoyment  of  the  music. 

In  an  earlier  part  of  his  Autobiography,  Wagner  illustrates 
the  same  principle  which  was  evidently  to  him  an  established 
conviction.  He  was  about  to  produce  his  Liebesverbot,  and  the 
directors  of  the  theater  "  failed  to  have  the  book  of  words 
printed  in  time."  "From  this  cause,"  he  says,  "  it  was  im- 
possible to  blame  the  people  for  being  at  a  loss  to  understand 
and  appreciate  the  piece." 

And  as  with  music,  so  with  poetry.  Difficult  words 
are  not  the  only  possible  source  of  intellectual  dis- 
traction, though,  in  connection  with  poetry,  they  are 
the  chief.  Antiquated  constructions,  such  as  the  use 
of  "  an  "  for  "  if  "  ("  Nay,  an  you  weep,  I  am  fallen 
indeed  "),  or  the  now  almost  obsolete  use  of  the  sub- 
junctive  ("  It  were  an  evil  day  "),   and   the  like,. 


ENEMIES   IN  THE   GATE  1 7 

present  similar  difficulties  which  should  be  removed 
in  the  same  way.  Where  a  whole  phrase,  verse,  or 
stanza  is  obscure,  it  is  often  well  to  present  it  en  bloc 
to  the  class  in  the  EngHsh  lesson  and  make  it  intelH- 
gible  long  before  the  poem  as  a  whole  is  given  in  the 
appreciation  lesson,  —  sufficiently  intelligible  for  the 
purpose,  let  me  add,  for  it  should  not  be  depleted 
of  all  its  charm  by  excessive  dissection. 

Bad  artistic  workmanship.  One  might  perhaps  In- 
clude under  the  head  of  distraction  the  effects  pro- 
duced by  awkward  combinations  of  letters  or  words  in 
a  poem.  One  of  Browning's  most  inspired  stanzas  is 
injured  by  the  presence  of  two  s's  in  immediate  con- 
tact with  each  other  and  therefore  difficult  to  pro- 
nounce, as  in  the  second  verse  here :  — 

"Then  welcome  each  rebufif 
That  turns  earth's  smoothness  rough, 
Each  sting  that  bids  nor  sit,  nor  stand,  but  go  ! 
Be  our  joy  three  parts  pain  ! 
Strive  and  hold  cheap  the  strain ; 
Learn,  nor  account  the  pang ;  dare,  never  grudge  the  throe."  ^ 

Browning,    indeed,    is    an    old    offender    in    these 

matters.     It  is  a  hard  matter  to  frame  one's  speech 

to  the  second  half  of  the  second  verse  of :  — 

"  CavaHers,  up  !    Lips  from  the  cup, 
Hands  from  the  pasty,  nor  bite  take  nor  sup 
TiU  you're 

Marching  along.  .  .  ."  ' 

1  Rabbi  Ben  Ezra.  ^  Marching  Along. 

c 


1 8  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

When  the  reader  or  reciter  is  trying  to  throw  him- 
self into  the  martial  enthusiasm  of  the  piece,  he  finds 
himself  wrestling  with  his  own  teeth  and  hps.  Oc- 
casionally, too,  Browning  spoils,  for  a  time,  the  aes- 
thetic effect  of  his  work  by  sheer  vulgarities  of  speech. 
It  would  be  hard  to  find  four  verses  structurally  more 
atrocious  than  these  from  A  Grammarian' s  Funeral ;  — 

"  That  low  man  goes  on  adding  one  to  one, 
His  hundred's  soon  hit : 
This  high  man,  aiming  at  a  million, 
Misses  an  imit." 

Here  we  have  two  s's  coming  together,  a  \ailgar 
phrase,  an  ungrammatical  construction,  and  a  techni- 
cal word  used  unsuitably.  That  Browning  can  write 
beautifully  need  not  be  denied  —  the  quotation  on  page 
2  is  some  evidence  of  this,  but  on  the  whole  his  great- 
ness Ues  in  originality  of  idea  rather  than  in  beauty 
of  form. 

The  distraction  of  technique.  —  The  above  remarks 
lead  us  naturally  to  consider  another  type  of  dis- 
traction that  is  ruinous  of  appreciation. 

Until  recently,  teachers  have  had  the  notion  that 
poetry  should  be  approached,  even  by  children 
scarcely  able  to  read  prose,  through  the  medium  of  the 
printed  page ;  and  that  songs,  likewise,  should  be 
learned  through  one  or  another  of  the  sets  of  symbols 
known  as  the  "  sol-fa  "  and  the  old-notation  systems. 
In  neither  case  was  the  voice  of  the  teacher  to  be 


ENEMIES   IN  THE  GATE  19 

allowed  to  make  the  first  appeal.     This  is  now  coming 
to  be  recognized  as  a  fatal  pedagogical  blunder. 

Music  and  poetry  were  invented  long  before  print- 
ing and  probably  long  before  writing ;  music,  perhaps 
—  despite  Herbert  Spencer  —  long  before  speech. 
But  in  our  schools  literature  has  meant  "  books,"  and 
for  the  teacher  to  recite  to  a  class  the  poems  that  the 
pupils  were  to  study  was  looked  upon  as  a  species  of 
"  soft  pedagogy."  The  literature  lesson,  then,  almost 
invariably  meant,  in  England  at  any  rate,  a  lesson  in 
reading.  The  case  of  music  is  similar  and  even  more 
unfortunate.  To  insist  that  before  we  can  make  the 
acquaintance  of  Maxwelton  braes  and  Annie  Laurie 
we  must  struggle  through 

dddd'd'tllsmmrdmr 
and  struggle  through  it  not  once  but  a  dozen  times ; 
that  we  must  then  learn  the  poem  as  a  poem,  not  in 
association  with  its  music ;  and  that  only  after  all 
this  drudgery  are  we  to  link  the  two  together  and  make 
a  song  out  of  them ;  this  may  be  a  good  example  of 
"  proceeding  from  the  simple  to  the  complex,"  but 
it  is  a  bad  method  from  the  point  of  view  of  apprecia- 
tion. Milton  speaks  of  music  "  married  to  immortal 
verse  " ;  he  does  not  speak  of  it  as  being  nailed  and 
hammered  to  immortal  verse.  And  Swinburne  has 
expressed  the  same  idea :  — 

"If  I  were  what  the  words  are, 
And  love  were  like  the  tune, 


20  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

With  double  sound  and  single 
Delight  our  lips  would  mingle, 

With  kisses  glad  as  birds  are 
That  get  sweet  rain  at  noon ; 

If  I  were  what  the  words  are, 
And  love  were  like  the  tune."  ^ 

"  Mingling,"  "  kissing,"  —  not  the  forcible  and  me- 
chanical joining  of  two  disparate  and  recalcitrant 
units.  Wagner  tells  us  that  he  was  the  only  child 
in  a  large  family  who,  up  to  the  age  of  twelve,  had  not 
been  taught  music.  Technique  —  the  technique  of 
reading  music  or  reading  poetry  —  may  absolutely 
kill  appreciation  before  it  is  born.^ 

But  technique  is  necessary.  —  The  specialist,  of 
course,  will  protest  that  we  must  have  specific  and 
direct  teaching  of  the  technique.  We  must.  When 
people  talk  of  teaching  this  or  that  subject  incidentally, 
they  are  too  often  trying  to  shunt  a  necessary,  though 
perhaps  disagreeable,  task.  There  must,  certainly, 
be  specific  and  direct  teaching  of  the  technique  of 
language  and  music.  But  the  lesson  in  appreciation 
is  not  the  time  for  the  systematic  and  formal  teaching 
of  technique,  and  the  early  stages  of  the  lesson  are 
not  even  the  time  for  technical  discussions.  Lessons 
should  differ  enormously  from  each  other,  and  the 

1  A  Match. 

^  A  teacher  tells  me  (indeed,  I  recollect  something  of  the  kind 
occurring  in  my  own  experience)  that  children  were  often  forbidden 
to  "look  at  the  words"  while  the  note-learning  was  in  progress. 


ENEMIES   IN  THE   GATE  21 

lesson  in  technique  must  differ,  —  almost  by  the  whole 
diameter  of  being,  —  from  the  lesson  in  appreciation. 
It  is  a  safe  rule  never  to  allow  a  song  to  be  introduced 
through  the  musical  notation  of  a  book,  and  only 
rarely  should  a  poem  be  introduced  to  young  children 
through  the  printed  page.  Technique  must  be  ab- 
solutely kept  out  of  the  way  or  cleared  out  oj  the  way  if 
appreciation  proper  is  to  take  place.  Long  after  the 
appreciation  lesson  itself  is  over,  the  music  books 
and  the  poetry  books  may  be  brought  out ;  and  then 
the  class  may  be  set  to  work,  amid  the  retreating 
sunlight  of  that  lesson,  at  the  fuller  mastery  of  the 
song  or  the  poem.  But  appreciation  is  one  thing  and 
technique  is  quite  another,  and  the  laws  of  the  two 
are  different. 

It  may  be  suggested  that  books  —  music  books  and  poetry 
books  —  might  at  least  stand  open  on  the  pupils'  desks  while 
the  teacher  sings  or  recites  the  new  piece.  I  think  not.  I 
have  often  tried  to  follow  a  Beethoven  symphony  with  the 
open  score  before  me,  and  I  have  invariably  found  that  the 
attempt  was  destructive  of  appreciation.  It  is  true  that 
minds  may  differ  essentially,  some  having  greater  power  of 
distributive  attention  than  others  —  Beethoven  and  Watts, 
for  example,  were  more  distributive  than  Goethe  and  Macau- 
lay.  But  I  know  of  no  evidence  in  favor  of  attempts  at  the 
same  moment  to  obtain  appreciation  and  to  study  the  symbols 
of  art.  Doubtless  some  pupils  will  ask  for  the  technique 
earlier  than  others;  some  will  ask  for  the  production  of  the 
printed  material  after  a  single  hearing ;  others  will  prefer  two, 
five,  or  even  ten  repetitions.     But  I  doubt  whether,  in  any 


22  THE   LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

circumstances  where  auditory  appreciation  is  possible,  the  work 
of  the  eye  should  precede  that  of  the  ear. 

The  view  of  M.  Cousinet.  —  The  all-importance  of 
this  matter  of  distraction  has  been  emphasized  by 
a  French  educationist,  M.  Cousinet,  in  a  somewhat 
different  connection.^  He  divides  human  life  into 
five  or  six  periods,  some  of  which  are  aesthetically 
promising  and  others  not.  What  is  it  that  makes 
a  period  unpromising?  The  presence  oj  distraction. 
There  are,  he  says,  certain  periods  of  life  when  the 
human  being  is  able  to  appreciate  (or  "  contemplate  ") 
with  comparative  ease,  and  certain  other  periods 
when  active  affairs  introduce  an  unfavorable  influence. 
After  the  first  twelve  or  eighteen  months  of  increas- 
ing skill  in  perception,  the  child  begins  to  "  contem- 
plate." He  stops  before  shining  things,  but  he  does 
not  seek  to  use  or  possess  them.  He  cries  out,  "  How 
beautiful !  "  He  loves  to  juxtapose  colors  and  appre- 
ciates color  contrasts.  If  he  only  persisted  in  this 
mood,  his  aesthetic  education  would  be  an  easy 
matter. 

At  about  the  third  year,  a  change  is  noticed.  Con- 
siderations of  utility  and  propriety  invade  his  mind. 
Things  become  pegs  on  which  to  hang  names. 
Pleasure  is  taken,  not  in  beauty,  but  in  the  ability 
to  recognize,  to  identify,  to  name.  This  aesthetic 
eclipse  continues  (says  M.  Cousinet)  up  to  the  years 

^  L'Educaleur  Moderne,  1912-1913. 


ENEMIES  IN  THE   GATE  23 

of  adolescence,  —  language,  the  social  life,  and  the 
utilities  of  things  claim  the  child's  attention.  Even 
adults  do  not  stop  eating  in  order  to  admire,  and  why 
should  we  expect  children  to  be  more  disinterested  ? 

Adolescence,  however,  is  another  period  of  repose 
when  aesthetic  contemplation  is  possible.  But  this 
is  followed  (sometimes  far  too  quickly)  by  the  storm 
and  stress  of  practical  life.  Professional  preparation, 
even  perhaps  brutal  forms  of  wage  earning  banish  the 
appeal  of  beauty,  and  possibly  the  appeal  never  comes 
again.  The  man  is  aesthetically  dead,  so  that  when, 
in  later  years,  the  struggle  for  professional  existence 
becomes  again  less  intense,  and  he  is  able  to  turn 
"  undistracted  "  to  things  of  beauty,  he  may  have 
lost  the  power  or  the  inclination  to  turn.  Inner 
resources  are  lacking.  He  has  gained,  perhaps,  "  the 
whole  world  "  that  he  coveted,  —  but  he  has  "  lost 
his  own  soul."  Women  may  be  in  the  same  predica- 
ment. A  mother  of  seven  children  —  a  woman  of  in- 
tellect—  who  had  had  no  leisure  for  eighteen  years 
said  at  the  end  of  that  time  "  all  the  threads  of  her 
intellectual  life  seemed  broken." 


CHAPTER  III 
SOME   PRINCIPLES  OF  MUSIC   AND   POETRY 

At  this  point,  when  the  expectation  of  the  reader 
is  possibly  running  high,  it  is  necessary  to  pause  in 
order  to  discuss  what  poetry  is.  The  teacher  does 
not  need  to  be  a  profound  student  of  all  the  subtleties 
of  this  subject ;  indeed,  in  his  case  as  in  that  of  the 
child,  a  detailed  knowledge  of  technique  (unless  com- 
pensated b}^  other  factors)  may,  through  distracting 
attention  from  spirit  to  form,  injure  rather  than  aid 
appreciation.  Yet  unless  one  knows,  at  least  in  an 
untechnical  fashion,  the  leading  principles  of  poetical 
construction,  one  is  certain  in  teaching  either  to  ignore 
many  matters  of  interest  or  to  expound  them  in 
misleading  or  erroneous  ways.  If,  then,  the  present 
chapter  breaks  the  sequence  of  the  exposition  at  a 
rather  vital  point,  it  does  so  in  the  interest  of  the  reader 
himself. 

Substance  versus  form  in  art :  art  for  art's  sake.  — 
A  long  battle  has  been  fought,  and  it  is  not  yet  over, 
between  those  who  lay  the  chief  stress  in  matters  of 
art  on  substance  and  subject  matter  and  those  who 
lay  the  chief  stress  on  form,  —  who  subscribe  to  the 
doctrine  of  "  art  for  art's  sake."     According  to  the 

24 


SOME  PRINCIPLES  OF   MUSIC  AND  POETRY       25 

latter,  if  something  is  beautiful  in  itself  we  need  not 
ask  for  it  also  to  be  moral  and  instructive.  The  artist 
is  neither  a  preacher  nor  a  teacher.  It  is  one  thing 
to  have  "  someting  to  say  "  and  quite  a  different  thing 
to  know  "  how  to  say  it,"  and  the  advocates  of  "  art 
for  art's  sake  "  always  lay  stress  on  the  "  how  " 
rather  than  on  the  "  something."  Indeed  they  often 
become  impatient  with  those  people  who  expect  the 
artist  to  have  a  "  message." 

Innumerable  examples  illustrative  of  this  controversy  could 
be  selected  from  the  history  of  art.  Wagner  had  to  fight  a 
battle  of  many  years'  duration  because  people  did  not  under- 
stand that  he  was  more  interested  in  delivering  a  moral  or 
social  message  in  music  than  in  producing  beautiful  music 
itself.  Bernard  Shaw  has  made  this  distinction  and  many 
others  clear  in  his  little  books,  The  Perfect  Wagnerite  and  The 
Sanity  of  Art.  Music  may  be  purely  decorative,  just  as  plastic 
ornament  may  be  purely  decorative;  it  may  convey  no  mes- 
sage at  all  beyond  its  own  pure,  sensuous  beauty.  But  Wag- 
ner's music  is  not  of  this  kind.  This  is  particularly  striking 
in  his  great  four  days'  opera,  The  Ring  of  the  Niebelung,  which 
is  an  impeachment  of  the  existent  system  of  society.  But 
one  who  compares  even  his  shorter  operas  with  those  of  his 
contemporaries  and  predecessors  will  see  that  he  was  generally 
trying  to  convey  certain  ideas,  and  not  to  produce  music  beau- 
tiful merely  in  itself.  The  Meister singers  of  Nuremberg,  for 
example,  represents  in  musical  drama  the  struggle  between 
living  artistry  and  dead  pedantry. 

Decorative  versus  expressional  music.  —  But  people 
did  not  understand.     They  said  that  Wagner's  was 


26  THE   LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

not  "  pure  music  "  ;  it  seemed  to  them  formless  because 
it  followed  the  actual  course  of  human  actions  and 
emotions  instead  of  certain  rules  and  traditions  which 
were  independent  of  such  a  course.  Undoubtedly 
"  pure  music  "  is  a  quite  legitimate  thing.  We  have 
it  in  fugues,  sonatas,  symphonies,  and  the  like.  But 
even  here  many  great  musicians  have  tried  to  break 
down  the  distinction  between  the  two  kinds  of  music ; 
having  "  something  to  say,"  they  have  compelled  the 
music  to  "  say  it  "  for  them,  even  at  the  expense  of 
rules  and  traditions.  Beethoven,  after  composing 
eight  magnificent  symphonies,  composed  late  in  life 
a  ninth  in  which,  after  three  movements  of  purely  in- 
strumental music,  he  confessed  that  something  more 
was  needed  (0  brothers,  not  such  be  our  music !)  and 
made  voices  join  with  orchestra  in  Schiller's  Ode  to 
Joy.  This  was  the  Choral  Symphony  over  which,  as 
we  have  seen,  Wagner  took  such  pains. 

The  point  to  remember  is  that  music  may  be  purely 
formal,  general,  and  decorative  but  that  it  may  also 
be  a  medium  for  the  expression  of  specific  thought  and 
emotion,  —  a  form  in  which  to  symbolize  and  per- 
petuate lessons  and  ideals.  Which  is  the  higher  and 
better  way  to  employ  music,  and,  indeed,  any  kind 
of  art  ?  The  classicists  say  the  former ;  the  roman- 
ticists, the  latter.  The  greatest  artists  have  gener- 
ally been,  or  have  tended  to  become,  romanticists. 
For    example,    Shakespeare    was    a    romanticist    in 


SOME   PRINCIPLES   OF   MUSIC  .\ND   POETRY       27 

matters  of  poetry,  and  the  classicists  of  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries  were,  for  that  reason,  dis- 
satisfied with  him. 

Browning  has  much  to  say,  but  is  not  always  suc- 
cessful in  saying  it  beautifully ;  Swinburne  has  not 
much  to  say,  but  he  often  says  it  in  forms  that  are 
full  of  sensuous  beauty  and  charm.  Thomas  Cole, 
the  American  painter,  has  stupendous  subjects.  The 
Course  of  Empire  and  The  Voyage  of  Life;  William 
M.  Hunt  has  comparatively  trivial  subjects,  e.g.  The 
Boy  and  the  Butterfly,  but  he  paints  them  with  great 
artistic  subtlety. 

It  would  be  a  mistake  to  press  the  distinction  too 
far.  Some  people  doubt  whether  there  is  any  such 
thing  as  aesthetic  appreciation  entirely  divorced  from 
ideas.  "  The  merest  germ  of  the  sense  of  beauty  seems 
to  imply  a  distinction  between  stimulus  and  signif- 
icance," —  between  form  and  content.^  It  is  a 
matter  of  degree,  but  the  student  needs  to  know  the 
distinction,  —  and,  after  hearing  a  poem  or  a  song, 
or  after  seeing  a  picture  or  a  statue,  to  ask  himself 
whether  the  charm  lies  in  the  ideas  conveyed  or  in  the 
mere  form.  If  the  charm  lies  in  both,  he  is  face  to 
face  with  art  of  the  highest  kind. 

Prose   versus  poetry.  —  "  But  ideas   can   be   con- 
veyed in  prose,"   some  one  objects.     Where,   then, 
lies  the  difference  between  prose  and  poetry? 
*  Bosanquet,  quoted  by  De  Garmo. 


28  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

Undoubtedly  there  is  much  poetical  prose  and  much 

prosy  poetry.     Pope  begins  his  Essay  on  Man  with  :  — 

"  Awake,  my  St.  John  !    Leave  all  meaner  things 
To  low  ambition  and  the  pride  of  kings." 

Is  this  prose  or  poetry?     Except  for  the  rhyme  it  is 

almost  indistinguishable  from  prose,  for  the  note  of 

)oetical  distinction  is  missing.     On  the  other  hand, 

Milton's  prose  is  often  highly  poetical,  as  in  the  famous 

Areopagilica  passage :  — 

"Methinks  I  see  in  my  mind  a  noble  and  puissant  nation 
rousing  herself  like  a  strong  man  after  sleep  and  shaking  her 
invincible  locks.  Methinks  I  see  her  as  an  eagle,  mewing  her 
mighty  youth  and  kindling  her  undazzled  eyes  at  the  full  mid- 
day beam.  .  .  ." 

Where,  then,  lies  the  difference  between  prose  and 
poetry  ?  The  difference  is  one  of  degree,  clearly,  but 
wherein  does  it  consist? 

Partly  in  the  ideas  that  are  summoned  into  the 
mind  in  the  two  cases.  A  weary  and  disappointed 
man  may  say,  "  I  am  in  a  state  of  mental  and  physical 
collapse,"  and  he  is  obviously  talking  in  prose.  Or 
he  may  say  with  Macbeth,  "  I  am  fallen  into  the  sere 
and  yellow  leaf,"  and  we  recognize  the  presence  of 
poetry.  The  words  "  state,"  "  mental,"  "  collapse," 
are  prosy,  general  words,  useful  in  ordinary  speech 
but  without  any  very  intimate  associations  with  our 
life.  But  the  words,  "  sere  and  yellow  leaf,"  recall  all 
kinds  of  personal  and  pensive  experiences  —  how,  one 


SOME  PRINCIPLES  OF  MUSIC  AND   POETRY       2g 

day,  we  sat  in  the  woods  and  felt  the  life  of  the  old 

year   dying   away And  the  word  "  fallen  " 

suggests  a  weakness  and  hopelessness  that  is  very  real 
and  very  human. 

Metaphors  and  similes.  —  Does,  then,  the  differ- 
ence between  prose  and  poetry  consist  in  the  more 
extensive  use  of  metaphor  and  simile  in  the  latter? 
Largely,  but  not  entirely.  Metaphors  and  similes 
may  be  powerful  and  yet  not  exactly  poetical  —  at 
any  rate  according  to  our  present  notions.  "  Chem- 
ical afhnity  is  love  between  the  molecules  " ;  this 
metaphor  certainly  approaches  the  poetical.  But  if 
we  reverse  it  and  say,  "  Love  is  chemical  affinity 
between  the  souls  of  men,"  is  our  metaphor  poetical? 
Possibly  it  is  —  for  the  scientist.  But  for  most  men 
it  is  not.  Indeed  there  is  some  doubt  whether  we 
ought  to  call  it  a  metaphor  at  all,  for  a  poetical  meta- 
phor should  always  be  more  vivid,  more  vital,  more 
personal,  than  the  idea  it  is  intended  to  elucidate. 

New  possibilities  of  artistic  expression.  —  It  is 
necessary  to  speak  with  some  hesitancy  here.  New 
forms  of  art  are  arising  in  our  midst.  Poets  have 
hitherto  drawn  most  of  their  metaphors  from  country 
life ;  they  are  beginning  to  draw  them  from  industrial 
and  scientific  life,  —  even  from  what  seem  to  be 
repellent  forms  of  that  Hfe.  Painters  and  sculptors, 
too,  are  feeling  the  same  impulse  to  be  "  modern." 
In  the  entrance  hall  of  the  Carnegie  Institute  at  Pitts- 


30  THE   LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

burgh  is  a  series  of  frescoes  representing  half-naked 
laborers  working  at  the  furnaces  of  the  town ;  loco- 
motives adding  their  huge  columns  of  steam  to  the 
torrents  of  smoke  which  pour  densely  from  the  steel 
works ;  an  armed  giant  —  Pittsburgh  —  rising  like  a 
god  from  the  midst  of  the  murky  scene,  hailed  by 
attendant  spirits ;  and,  far  above,  a  procession  of 
people  pressing  eagerly  on  toward  a  goal  of  happiness 
and  prosperity.  The  artist  has  sought  to  find  romance 
in  the  midst  of  industrialism.  Kipling  has  attempted 
the  same  kind  of  thing  in  poetry  by  drawing  metaphors 
from  machiner}' ,  navigation,  and  the  like ;  Whitman, 
too;  and  Wells,  with  his  highly  virile  prose  style,  has 
drawn  powerful  metaphors  not  only  from  the  very 
heart  of  Hfe,  but  from  a  number  of  arts  and  sciences, 
particularly  from  his  favorite  science,  biology. 

"She  noted  that  as  a  good  saying  and  it  germinated  and 
spread  tentacles  of  explanation  through  her  brain." 

Socialism  must  be  "a  battle  against  human  stupidity  and 
egotism  and  disorder,  a  battle  fought  all  through  the  forests 
and  jungles  of  the  soul  of  man." 

"The  air  was  thick  with  feelings." 

"There  was  a  gulf  of  eight  years  between  her  and  the  young- 
est of  her  brace  of  sisters,  an  impassable  gulf  inhabited  chaoti- 
cally by  two  noisy  brothers." 

"The  life  of  a  young  girl  is  set  about  with  prowling  pitfalls." 

"All  the  talk  seemed  to  be  like  a  ship  in  adverse  weather  on 
the  lea  shore  of  love."  ' 

•  Ann  Veronica. 


SOME  PRINCIPLES   OF  MUSIC  AND   POETRY       3I 

What  now  about  "  love  "  and  "  chemical  affinity  "  ? 
If  the  time  ever  comes  when  men's  minds  are  occupied 
more  with  exciting  and  personal  thoughts  about 
chemistry  than  with  exciting  and  personal  thoughts 
about  love,  the  comparison  of  love  with  chemical 
affinity  will  be  an  effective  poetical  metaphor.  But 
at  present  the  word  "  love  "  is  the  more  intimate 
word,  —  perhaps  the  most  intimate  word  in  the 
language.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  Maeterlinck's 
books.  The  Life  of  the  Bee  and  The  Intelligence  of 
Flowers  are  so  impressive.  The  stamens  are  the 
bridegrooms  who  are  yearning  for  the  proud  brides 
up  yonder  or  down  yonder.     Here  is  a  passage  :  — 

"The  Vallisneria  [is]  a  hydrocharad  whose  nuptials  form  the 
most  tragic  episode  in  the  love  history  of  the  flowers.  .  .  . 
Its  whole  existence  is  spent  at  the  bottom  of  the  water,  in  a 
sort  of  half  slumber,  until  the  moment  of  the  wedding  hour 
comes,  when  it  aspires  to  a  new  Ufe.  Then  the  female  plant 
slowly  uncoils  the  long  spiral  of  its  peduncle,  rises,  emerges 
and  floats  and  blossoms  on  the  surface  of  the  pond.  From  a 
neighboring  stem,  the  male  flowers,  which  see  it  through  the 
sunlit  water,  rise  in  their  turn,  fuU  of  hope,  towards  the  one 
that  .  .  .  awaits  them,  that  calls  them  to  a  fairer  world.  But, 
when  they  have  come  halfway,  they  feel  themselves  suddenly 
held  back:  their  stalk,  the  very  source  of  their  Ufe,  is  too 
short ;  they  will  never  reach  the  abode  of  light,  the  only  spot 
in  which  the  union  of  the  stamens  and  the  pistil  can  be 
achieved  !  .  .  . 

"Is  there  any  more  cruel  inadvertence  or  ordeal  in  natiure? 
Picture  the  tragedy  of  that  longing.  .  .  .    They  hesitate  a 


32  THE   LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

moment;  then  with  a  magnificent  effort,  the  finest,  the  most 
supernatural  that  I  know  of  in  all  the  pageantry  of  the  insects 
and  the  flowers,  in  order  to  rise  to  happiness  they  deliberately 
break  the  bond  that  attaches  them  to  life.  They  tear  them- 
selves from  their  peduncle,  and,  with  an  incomparable  flight, 
amid  bubbles  of  gladness,  their  petals  dart  up  and  break  the 
surface  of  the  water.  Wounded  to  death,  but  radiant  and 
free,  they  float  for  a  moment  beside  their  heedless  brides.  .  .  ." 

It  is  clear  that  no  metaphor  is  poetically  effective 
unless  it  appeals  to  observation  or  experience  more 
familiar  or  intense  than  that  which  it  seeks  to  elucidate. 
If  words  like  "  nuptial,"  "  love,"  "  bride,"  are  feeble 
or  meaningless  to  us  we  shall  fail  to  appreciate  Maeter- 
linck's expositions  of  plant  and  animal  life.  If 
words  like  "  jungle,"  "  gulf,"  "  tentacles,"  are  feeble 
or  meaningless  to  us,  we  shall  fail  to  appreciate  the 
vigorous  prose  of  Wells.  And,  for  the  same  reason, 
if  Elizabethan  metaphors  are  feeble  or  meaningless, 
a  person  will  fail  to  appreciate  at  its  full  the  genius 
of  Shakespeare.  Here  we  come  face  to  face  with  the 
pedagogic  problem  that  will  confront  us  in  the  next 
chapter. 

Rhythm  in  poetry  and  in  prose.  —  But  rich,  vital, 
metaphorical  language  is  not  the  only  characteristic 
of  poetry.  Poetry  is  not  only  metaphorical,  it  is 
rhythmical.  But  so,  too,  is  prose.  Here,  again, 
the  distinction  between  prose  and  poetry  is  not  so 
clear  as  it  seems  at  first  sight.  On  this  subject,  un- 
fortunately, we  have  inherited  the  classical  notions. 


SOME   PRINCIPLES  OF  MUSIC  AND   POETRY       33 

We  are  told  that  the  verses  or  lines  of  poetry  may 
be:  — 

(a)  dactylic  hexameters  (Homer,  Vergil,  Evan- 
geline, etc.) ; 

(b)  iambic  pentameters  ("  A  gentle  knight  was 
pricking  on  the  plain."  —  Faery  Queen) ; 

(c)  iambic  tetrameters  ("  The  stag  at  eve  had  drunk 
his  fill."  —  The  Lady  of  the  Lake) ;  or 

(d)  trochaic  tetrameters  ("  Hiawatha,  laughing 
water  "),  and  so  on. 

Thus  we  imagine  that  our  poetry  is  not  very  far 
removed  from  the  Latin  and  Greek  with  its  longs  and 
shorts  (a  dactyl,  for  example,  consisting  of  one  long 
syllable  followed  by  two  shorts  _  ^  v./  as  in  the  word 
"  dactylus "  itself).  We  admit  that,  instead  of 
"  long,"  we  should  say  "  accented,"  and  instead  of 
"  short,"  we  should  say  "  unaccented  " ;  but  other- 
wise we  imagine  that  the  old  scheme  of  classical  meters 
will  suit  our  language  very  well. 

It  is  certainly  better  to  talk  about  pentameters, 
hexameters,  and  tetrameters  than  it  is  to  say  nothing 
to  our  pupils  about  rhythm.  There  is  doubtless  a 
certain  interest  in  discovering  inductively  that  most 
of  Shakespeare's  verses  contain  ten  syllables ;  that 
Fletcher  was  more  fond  than  Shakespeare  of  an  eleven- 
syllabled  verse ;  and  that  scholars  have  therefore 
attributed  large  portions  of  King  Henry  the  Eighth  to 
Fletcher.     But  all  this  is  a  Uttle  superficial,   more 


34  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

befitting  the  spirit  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
centuries  than  the  age  that  produced 

"The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained ; 
It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 
Upon  the  place  beneath ;  it  is  twice  blessed.  .  .  ." 

For,  in  the  first  of  these  verses,  we  have  only  three  high 

II  /  _ 

stresses  (quahty,  mercy,  strained) ;  in  the  second,  only 

four ;  and  in  the  third,  only  three  or  four.     In  fact, 

the  attempt  to  discover  five  iambs  in  these  "  iambic 

pentameters  "  is  an  impossible  one.      "  Twice  blessed  " 

is,  for  example,  rather  a  ''  spondee  "  than  an  iambus; 

and  the  syllable  "  ity  "  in  ''  quahty  "  is  "  pyrrhic." 

English  poetry  does  not  follow  the  classical  forms 
of  prosody,  —  The  genius  of  Enghsh  poetry  at  its 
best  will  never  be  understood  so  long  as  classical 
notions  of  syllabic  length  or  even  of  mere  poetical 
stress  hold  the  field.  Poetical  rhythm  in  Shake- 
speare, Milton,  and  Keats  is  intimately  related  to  prose 
usages,  and  to  the  meaning  of  the  ideas  expressed. 
The  greatness  of  these  poets  Ues  in  their  power  to 
mold  ordinary  prose  rhythm  into  forms  that  convey 
their  meaning  with  supreme  power  and  charm. 

By  way  of  illustration,  read  the  above  prose 
sentence,  commencing  with  "  The  greatness."  It  will 
be  noted  that 

(a)  the  article  "  the  "  is  unstressed ; 

(6)  the  noun  "greatness"  has  high  stress; 


SOME   PRINCIPLES  OF   MUSIC  AND   POETRY      35 

(c)  the  preposition  "  of  "  is  unstressed ; 

(d)  the  adjective  "  their  "  has  moderate  stress ; 
and  so  on. 

There  are  a  dozen  or  more  laws  of  this  kind,  and 
when  we  find  that  certain  lines  of  poetry  strike  us  as 
immortally  great,  the  reason  is  not  that  the  poet  has 
composed  unusually  regular  pentameters,  but  that  he 
has  employed  the  natural  stresses  of  English  speech 
to  express  what  he  wishes  to  express. 

"Your  mind  is  tossing  on  the  ocean,"  says  Salarino  to  An- 
tonio in  The  Merchant  of  Venice.  Where  is  the  iambic  pen- 
tameter, even  when  we  have  made  "ocean"  a  trisyllabic  word? 
There  are,  possibly,  three  iambs  in  this  verse,  but  no  one  can 
discover  more  than  three,  and  any  attempt  to  accentuate  the 
"on"  would  be  to  deviate  from  the  prose  usage  that  makes  a 
proposition  unstressed.  Anyone,  however,  can  discover  the 
jerkiness  of  the  line,  —  a  quality  fitly  symbolic  of  the  state  of 
Antonio's  mind.  The  verse  is  molded  to  the  thought,  not  to 
a  scheme  of  five  accented  and  five  unaccented  syllables. 

Does  all  this  mean  that  blank  verse  is  the  same  as 
prose  ?  No ;  but  merely  that  blank  verse  is  rooted 
and  grounded  in  principles  of  common  speech  and 
stress  which  are  distinctively  English  and  differ 
wholly  from  the  principles  that  rule  in  stressless  lan- 
guages like  French,  and  quantitative  languages  like 
Latin.  The  poet,  it  is  true,  introduces  a  more  regular 
rhythm  into  his  poetry  than  a  prose  writer  introduces 
into  his  prose,  but  the  regularity  is  fitful  and  unob- 
trusive ;    thought  and  its  natural  expression  are  his 


36  THE  LESSON   IN  APPRECIATION 

main  concern,  and  he  is  a  great  poet  if  he  can  so  shape 
his  words  as  just  to  suggest  regularity  and  recurrence, 
and  at  the  same  time  not  to  betray  in  the  slightest 
the  everyday  genius  of  the  language. 

All  of  the  greatest  passages  in  English  blank  verse  exemplify 
this ;  from  Macbeth,  for  example,  — 

"Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased, 
Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow. 
Rase  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain. 
And  with  some  sweet  oblivious  antidote 
Purge  the  stuffed  bosom  of  the  perilous  grief 
That  weighs  upon  the  heart  ?" 

Is  the  first  verse  prose  or  poetry?     Certainly  it  is 

not  an  iambic  pentameter.      To  force  it  into   this 

mold :  — 

/  /     /•     • 

"  Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  .  .  ." 

would  spoil  it  completely.  The  whole  passage  is 
rhythmic,  but  the  rhythm  is  something  larger  and 
more  organically  connected  with  the  thought  than  any 
alleged  scheme  of  pentametric  prosody  can  take 
account  of.  Shakespeare  used  language  just  as 
Wagner  used  music  —  expressively. 

Lyrics,  of  course,  follow  a  regular  scheme  more 
closely  than  blank  verse,  and  the  preceding  remarks 
apply  to  them  only  with  qualifications.  A  lyric 
deals  with  one  specific  mood  or  thought,  and  is  there- 
fore capable  of  being  shaped  into  a  cameo-like  dainti- 
ness unsuitable  for  the  treatment  of  large,  variegated 


SOME  PRINCIPLES  OF  MUSIC  AND   POETRY       37 

themes.  Sometimes,  indeed,  a  single  stanza  is  ravish- 
ingly  perfect  in  itself,  complete  in  thought,  regular 
in  form.     What  can  excel  this  from  Whittier:  — 

"  Not  Thine  the  bigot's  partial  plea, 
Nor  Thine  the  zealot's  ban : 
Thou  well  cans't  spare  a  love  of  Thee 
Which  ends  in  hate  of  man." 

Or  this  of  Matthew  Arnold  :  — 

"  Come  to  me  in  my  dreams,  and  then, 
By  day  I  shall  be  well  again  ! 
For  then  the  night  will  more  than  pay 
The  hopeless  longing  of  the  day." 

Regularity,  rigidity  indeed,  is  possible  and  desirable 
where  the  thought  is  simple,  definite,  and  therefore 
manageable  in  small  compass.  But  all  art  cannot 
take  this  form. 

Enough  has  been  said  to  introduce  the  reader  to 
the  important  practical  problems  of  the  next  chapter. 
Poetry  is  clearly  a  very  vital  thing.  It  draws  its  meta- 
phors from  ordinary  life,  and  it  draws  its  rhythms  from 
ordinary  speech.  But  —  emotion  demands  a  greater 
regularity  of  rhythm  than  we  expect  or  desire  in  our 
non-emotional  moods.  That  is  all  that  need  be  said. 
Any  lesson  in  appreciation  that  ignores  these  facts  is 
bound  to  fail. 

Modern  Experiments  in  Art  Form.  It  was  shown  above 
that  many  new  subjects  (industrialism  p.  29)  are  being  ap- 


38  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

propriated  by  artists  and  writers  for  artistic  purposes,  and  it 
is  equally  important  to  recognize  the  existence  of  other  changes. 
The  principles  upon  which  art  is  or  should  be  built  are  still  a 
matter  of  controversy,  just  because  all  art  is  progressive  and 
new  forms  of  it  are  constantly  being  devised.  Many  of  these 
forms,  no  doubt,  will  perish  unlamented  as  being  begotten  of 
a  mere  craving  for  notoriety  or  a  desire  to  defy  conventional 
standards.  "Futurist  painting,"  "impressionist  music"  (im- 
pressionist painting  seems  to  have  come  to  stay),  Walt  Whit- 
man's prose-poetry,  Paul  Fort's  Ballades  franqaises  (written 
in  prose,  yet  largely  poetical)  are  examples  of  artistic  novelties 
about  which  people  hold  very  different  opinions.  Art  has  to 
steer  between  the  Scylla  of  excessive  regularity  which  becomes 
monotonous  and  expressionless,  and  the  Charybdis  of  an  ex- 
pressional  chaos  which  is  not  art  at  all.  Meanwhile  it  is  in- 
teresting to  note  that  Professor  Saintsbury  has  recently  studied 
the  rhythms  of  prose  and  has  tried  to  show  how  they  differ 
from  those  of  poetry.  We  learn  from  him,  too,  not  only  that 
poetry  easily  slips  into  prose  but  that  "fine  prose"  is  often 
really  poetry:  Dickens,  for  example,  often  wrote  in  hexam- 
eters. Perhaps  it  would  be  not  far  wrong  to  say  that  good 
prose  should  just  suggest  poetical  rhythm  (and  other  poetical 
devices)  but  should  never  pass  over  into  continuous  poetry ; 
while  good  poetry  should  just  suggest  the  prose  rhythms,  which 
we  use  in  common  life,  but  should  never  become  continuous 
prose.     Everything  is  here  a  matter  of  degree. 


CHAPTER   IV 
POSITIVE  OR   CONSTRUCTIVE   PREPARATION 

It  is  now  time  to  resume  the  consideration  of  the 
appreciation  lesson  itself.  The  readers  of  Chapters  I 
and  II  might  be  inclined  to  infer  that  the  chief  recipes 
for  carrying  the  lesson  to  a  successful  conclusion  are 
two :  (a)  make  an  energetic  first  impression ;  and 
(b)  keep  distractions  away.  But  the  problem  is  much 
more  complex  than  this.  The  first  impression  is  cer- 
tainly important ;  and  it  is  so  gravely  interfered  with 
by  distractions  of  any  kind  that  the  removal  of  the 
latter  is  a  cardinal  item  in  the  technique  of  the  lesson. 
We  may  call  this  the  principle  of  negative  preparation. 
But  there  is  need  of  a  more  subtle  kind  of  preparation. 
Negative  preparation  gives  appreciation  a  chance  to 
arise ;  it  does  not  contribute  actively  to  appreciation 
itself.     That  is  the  task  of  positive  preparation. 

Grouping  ideas  together  as  a  source  of  aesthetic 
pleasure.  —  M.  Cousinet  has  rightly  traced  much  of 
the  highest  aesthetic  pleasure  to  the  "  grouping  together 
of  ideas,"  —  the  reinforcing  of  crude  admirations  by 
means  of  such  intellectual  elements  as  interpreta- 
tions,   memories,    contrasts,    and    the   like.     Now  if 

39 


40  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

such  "  groupings  "  and  "  reinforcings  "  are  within 
the  possibilities  of  pedagogy,  it  is  plain  that  pedagogy 
can  positively  create  aesthetic  pleasure.  The  reinforce- 
ment of  the  word  "  affinity  "  by  the  word  "  love  " 
is  only  a  type  of  what  may  take  place  a  thousand 
times.  We  here  enter  a  most  fascinating  realm  of 
educational  possibilities. 

There  are  limits  to  the  possibilities,  of  course. 
The  word  "  love  "  —  at  any  rate  in  the  sense  in  which 
Maeterlinck  uses  it  in  his  Intelligence  of  Flowers  — 
stands  for  an  experience  which  children  are  too  young 
to  have  had  ;  consequently  all  "  nuptial  "  metaphors 
can  never  mean  very  much  for  the  child,  nor,  indeed, 
can  they  ever  mean  so  much  for  the  passionless  as 
for  the  passionate.  School  can  provide  instruction, 
but  it  is  limited  in  the  forms  of  direct  experience  that 
it  can  provide.     Much,  however,  can  be  done. 

We  have  seen  that  a  metaphor  or  simile  implies 
two  ideas,  and  sometimes,  indeed,  as  in  the  "  blind 
mouths"  passage^  in  Milton's  Lycidas,  —  more  than 
two  ideas,  in  which  case  it  may  be  a  mixed  metaphor. 
The  reader  should  study  with  care  Ruskin's  exposi- 
tion of  that  passage  in  Sesame  and  Lilies.  He  will 
learn  from  it  that,  when  a  great  writer  uses  a  powerful 
and  striking  word,  we  are  faithless  to  him  if  we  allow 
the  meaning  of  the  word  to  be  attenuated  or  lost. 

*  "Blind  mouths!  that  scarce  themselves  know  how  to  hold  a 
sheep  hook." 


POSITIVE  OR   CONSTRUCTIVE  PREPARATION      41 

The  theme  of  the  present  chapter  is  how  this  disas- 
trous result  may  be  prevented. 

Analysis  of  some  metaphors.  —  Londoners  speak 
of  their  parks  as  the  "lungs"  of  the  city;  but  if 
we  have  never  heard  of  lungs,  or  have  only  a  vague 
idea  of  their  function,  the  metaphor  is  meaningless, 
just  as  it  would  have  been  meaningless  to  Shakespeare 
with  his  inadequate  ideas  of  the  circulation  of  the 
blood.  Conversely,  if  we  have  a  rich  knowledge  of 
the  function  of  the  lungs,  we  shall  probably  see,  better 
than  most  people,  the  extreme  appropriateness  of 
calling  the  parks  "  lungs,"  and  we  shall  realize  that 
the  person  who  first  used  this  metaphor  caught  and 
crystallized  a  certain  connection  between  ideas  — 
a  connection  which,  obvious  though  it  may  now  seem, 
would  occur  only  to  one  person  perhaps  in  ten  thou- 
sand. 

Take  again  the  word  "  rack."  In  Shakespeare's 
plays,  it  has  two  meanings.  Prospero  says  toward 
the  end  of  The  Tempest :  — 

"These  our  actors, 
As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits,  and 
Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air : 
And  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision. 
The  cloud-capped  towers,  the  great  globe  itself, 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit  shall  dissolve. 
And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded, 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind." 


42  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

Here,  of  course,  the  word  "  rack  "  means  a  whisp 
of  vapor  (German,  Ranch).  Perhaps  it  is  hardly 
necessary  for  the  teacher  to  explain  such  a  word  as 
this  in  advance,  unfamiHar  though  it  is ;  the  context 
prevents  any  serious  misapprehension.  But  the  word 
"  rack  "  was  also  used  in  Shakespeare's  (or  Bacon's) 
time  to  designate  an  instrument  by  which  the  human 
frame  could  be  diabolically  tortured  and  pulled 
asunder.  Hallam  tells  us  that  "  the  rack  seldom 
stood  idle  in  the  Tower  for  all  the  latter  part  of 
EUzabeth's  reign  " ;  thus  the  word  was  a  familiar 
one  ;  it  meant  something.  To-day  we  can  regain  the 
word,  or  understand  its  meaning  in  the  minds  of  men 
three  centuries  ago,  only  by  reading  some  harrowing 
account  of  Tudor  or  Stuart  times.  If  we  have  Hved 
imaginatively  or  vicariously  through  some  of  these 
typical  experiences,  we  are  in  a  position  to  appreciate 
the  words  uttered  by  Kent  toward  the  end  of  King 
Lear.  The  old  monarch  is  at  his  last  gasp  ;  the  busy- 
bodies  standing  around  him  cry  to  him  in  their 
crude  and  meaningless  sympathy  to  "  Look  up!  "  — 
to  him  who  had  been  torn  between  his  egoism 
and  his  affection  in  his  contest  with  Cordeha,  and 
who,  in  the  later  contest  with  Goneril  and  Regan, 
had  run  like  a  baffled  animal  from  one  to  the  other. 
It  was  to  this  old  man,  from  whom,  as  the  last  blow  of 
all,  Cordeha  had  now  been  taken,  that  the  bystanders 
call  out,  "  My  lord,  look  up!  "     Cannot  we  see  the 


POSITIVE  OR   CONSTRUCTIVE   PREPARATION       43 

exquisite   appropriateness  of   Kent's  reply   to   their 

importunities,  — 

"O,  let  him  pass  !  he  hates  him 
That  would  upon  the  rack  of  this  tough  world 
Stretch  him  out  longer." 

The  word  "  rack  "  is  the  one  and  only  word  that 
seems  to  fit  Lear's  tragic  experience.  Job  had  his 
trials  too,  but  his  nature  was  not  pulled  asunder 
quite  as  Lear's  was.  Under  the  "  buffetings  of  chance  " 
his  head  was  bloody  ;  but  the  buffetings  were  external 
as  buffetings  usually  are.  OEdipus  was  pursued  by 
a  mahgnant  destiny  and  caught  in  a  trap  devised,  as 
it  seemed,  by  some  devil  for  his  destruction ;  but  his 
terrible  sorrow  was  one  gigantic  thing,  a  kind  of  enemy 
from  without.  The  buffetings  of  Job  and  the  trap 
of  CEdipus  were  different  from  the  rack  on  which  Lear 
was  stretched. 

Another  great  example  of  the  use  of  metaphor  may 
be  found  in  the  twenty-third  Psalm  :  — 

"The  Lord  is  my  shepherd  — " 

No,  a  thousand  times  No ! 

"The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd,  I  shall  not  want." 

The  whole  weight  of  the  psalm  is  upon  that  one  word, 
*'  Shepherd." 

"He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures,  he  leadeth 
me  beside  the  stUl  waters. 


44  THE   LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

"He  restoreth  my  soul:  he  Icadeth  me  in  the  paths  of 
righteousness,  for  his  name's  sake. 

"Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 
death,  I  will  fear  no  evil, 

"For  thou  art  with  me,  thy  rod  and  thy  staff  they  comfort 
me.  .  ." 

What  is  the  mistake  that  is  commonly  made  in 
dealing  with  this  Psalm  ?  It  is  one  of  the  ever-recur- 
ring mistakes  that  dog  our  lessons  in  literature : 
using  metaphors  and  similes  in  a  feeble  way,  making 
no  attempt,  —  except  post  hoc  attempts  or  after- 
thoughts, —  to  load  tJie  metaphor  or  simile  with  mean- 
ing before  allowing  it  to  be  used  at  all.  The  Psalm 
has  six  verses ;  five  of  them  are  concerned  with  a 
sheep  and  a  shepherd,  and  with  nothing  else.  We 
must  drink  deep  of  pastoral  life  before  we  can  appre- 
ciate the  Psalm  at  all.  We  must  even  drink  deep  of 
the  geography  of  Palestine,  for  the  "  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death  "  meant  one  of  the  many  ravines  of 
the  land,  haunted  by  robbers  and  by  wild  beasts,  and 
gloomy  even  at  midday.  And  "  green  pastures  " 
similarly  meant,  to  the  Oriental  in  his  half-parched 
lands,  ten  times  more  than  it  can  mean  to  us.  Nay, 
"  the  paths  of  righteousness  "  are  not  paths  of  right- 
eousness at  all ;  the  idea  is  "  right  paths,"  "  right 
tracks,"  as  opposed  to  delusive  tracks  that  lead  the 
flocks  nowhere.  "  Thou  preparest  a  table  before  me 
in   the  presence  of  mine  enemies  " !    the  shepherd 


POSITIVE  OR   CONSTRUCTIVE   PREPARATION       45 

prepares  a  resting  place  for  the  flock  at  night,  roots 
out  adders  and  scorpions,  and  dresses  the  wounds  of 
the  sheep  with  oil  before  they  settle  down  for  the 
night. 

When  we  have  grasped  all  this,  we  begin  to  perceive 
the  magnificence  of  the  matchless  twenty- third  Psalm. 
But  if  we  prematurely  meddle  with  the  metaphor,  — 
pulling  it  asunder  though  hardly  born ;  if  we  explain 
that  the  "  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death "  meant 
"death  "and  that  the  paths  of  righteousness  meant  the 
paths  of  virtue  and  respectability ;  we  may  be  teach- 
ing theology  well,  but  we  are  teaching  literature  badly. 

Reviving  attenuated  and  lost  meanings.  —  Not 
infrequently  the  meanings  that  formerly  attached  to 
certain  words  have  weakened,  and  it  becomes  the 
duty  of  the  teacher  of  poetry  to  revitalize  them.  The 
word  "  charming  "  is  a  case  in  point.  When  Imogen 
says,  in  Cytnbeline, — 

"  Or  ere  I  could 

I  Give  him  that  parting  kiss  which  I  had  set 

Betwixt  two  charming  words,  comes  in  my  father," 

she  meant  by  "charming,"  enchanting  —  working 
a  kind  of  magical  protection  for  her  lover.  At  the 
beginning  of  the  eighth  book  of  Paradise  Lost,  the 
same  word,  although  a  little  weaker  than  in  the 
instance  just  cited,  is  far  stronger  than  when  used  in 
ordinary  conversation  to-day  :  — 


46  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

"  The  angel  ended,  and  in  Adam's  ear 
So  charming  left  his  voice,  that  he  awhile 
Thought  him  still  speaking,  still  stood  fixed  to  hear ; 
Then,  as  new  waked,  thus  gratefully  replied." 

The  notion  of  magical  enchantment  still  remains  in 
this  passage. 
When  Olivia  in  Twelfth   Night  says  to  Viola :  — 

"  What  might  you  think  ? 
Have  you  not  set  mine  honor  at  the  stake, 
And  baited  it  with  all  the  unmuzzled  thoughts 
That  tyrannous  heart  can  think  ?  " 

she  is,  of  course,  referring  to  bear  baiting.  The 
metaphor  is  coldly  understandable  by  us  even  to-day, 
but  we  hardly  feel  its  power.  Nor  do  we  feel  the  full 
power  of  Hamlet's  "  mutines  in  the  bilboes  "  —  per- 
haps we  do  not  even  know  what  "  bilboes  "  were, 
nor  the  vexatious  restraint,  often  passing  into  anguish, 
which  they  inflicted  on  the  unfortunate  "  mutines." 

In  the  present  state  of  school  time-tables  it  will 
perhaps  be  impossible  to  give  a  large  amount  of  time 
to  the  task  of  making  meaningful  all  of  the  words 
that  the  pupils  meet  in  the  literature  they  read ; 
but  much  work  of  this  type  will  have  to  be  done  if  the 
full  possibilities  of  lessons  in  appreciation  are  to  be 
realized. 

Words  may  meet  a  more  unhappy  fate  than  merely 
to  be  attenuated  in  meaning.  They  may  lose  all 
meaning,  or  they  may  acquire  a  meaning  far  removed 


POSITIVE  OR   CONSTRUCTIVE   PREPARATION       47 

from  their  original.  Are  we  to  allow  such  words  to 
be  dumped  down  before  a  class  and  thus  create  won- 
derment and  distraction  ?  Yes  —  if  our  concern  is 
something  less  than  appreciation ;  if,  for  example,  it 
is  the  scientific  study  of  words  in  and  for  themselves. 
But  if  our  concern  is  appreciation,  we  must  be  very 
cautious  of  allowing  such  interferences  with  Hmpid 
understanding  and  pure  delight. 

Practical  corollary :  pioneer  the  metaphor.  —  To 
what,  now,  does  the  preceding  discussion  point? 
It  points  once  more  to  the  necessity  of  red-letter  les- 
sons, preceded  (days,  weeks,  or  perhaps  months  in 
advance)  by  phases  of  positive  as  well  as  of  negative 
preparation.  It  may  be  excusable  to  exclude  real 
literature  from  the  preadolescent  schools,  or  it  may 
be  excusable  to  employ  hterature  for  Hturgical  pur- 
poses only  —  as  a  part  of  a  stately  School  Ritual ; 
but  it  is  not  legitimate  to  teach  literature  in  a  feeble, 
hurried,  makeshift,  ad  hoc  manner  and  without  pains- 
taking preparation.  If  a  child  is  to  appreciate  a 
great  metaphor  we  must  supply  him  with  experience 
that  will  make  it  meaningful ;  and  if  he  is  to  appre- 
ciate the  subtle  appropriateness  of  words  whose  mean- 
ings have  been  weakened  or  lost,  we  must  do  some- 
thing —  unfortunately  we  can  usually  do  but  little  — 
to  make  that  appropriateness  evident. 

The  spirit  that  dominates  the  school  organization 
will  obviously  be  a  large  factor  in  determining  the 


48  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

efficiency  of  such  work.  If  all  lessons  are  regarded 
as  of  equal  importance,  "  red-letter  lessons  "  are  out 
of  the  question  ;  and  in  conditions  of  this  sort,  prepa- 
ration far  in  advance  will  be  shirked  by  the  teacher. 
He  will  not  waste  time  in  pioneering  a  metaphor  which 
is  to  be  used  only  after  the  lapse  of  two  or  three 
months.  In  short,  few  teachers  will  have  the  incen- 
tive to  do  teaching  of  this  subtle  kind  unless  super- 
visors, inspectors,  and  superintendents  are  far-seeing 
enough  to  place  a  premium  upon  it.  But  if  a  premium 
is  placed  upon  these  red-letter  lessons  —  if  the  teacher 
recognizes  that  here  is  an  opportunity  for  adventurous 
achievement  in  his  own  field  —  such  lessons  will  be 
given  and  given  well. 

And  in  employing  this  type  of  teaching,  the  teacher 
may  discover  appreciative  possibihties  of  an  un- 
expected kind  in  the  child.  Indeed,  the  child  — 
primed  up  with  "  shepherd  "  ideas  and  *'  rack  "  ideas 
and  the  like  —  may  actually  appreciate  literature 
more  ecstatically  than  the  adult.  For  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  "  presentative  activity  "  in  ideas ;  and  if  the 
word  "  rack  "  has  been  artificially  made  to  carry  a 
fresher  and  more  vigorous  meaning  for  the  inexperienced 
child  than  for  the  experienced  adult  —  skillful  teach- 
ing is  probably  able  to  effect  this  —  there  is  Httle  doubt 
that  the  child  will  warmly  appreciate  things  that 
would  leave  the  adult  cold. 

It  is  difficult  to  assign,  at  present,  any  definite  limit 


POSITIVE  OR   CONSTRUCTIVE  PREPARATION       49 

to  the  application  of  this  principle.  If  poetical 
metaphors  are  to  be  taken  seriously,  there  is  no 
option  in  the  matter.  The  "  fairy  flax  "  and  the 
"  hawthorn  buds "  of  the  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus 
must  be  shown  to  the  pupils  before  the  poem  itself 
is  heard ;  though  whether  hours,  days,  or  weeks  in 
advance  is  a  matter  for  the  teacher  to  decide.  In 
some  cases,  doubtless,  only  a  brief  period  should  elapse 
between  the  two  events,  and  recency  itself  may  often 
be  an  advantage.  In  other  cases,  where  more  remotely 
subtle  associational  values  of  a  word  have  to  be  built 
up,  recency  would  be  fatal.  But  the  general  nature 
of  the  poUcy  to  be  pursued  is  unafi[ected  by  differences 
of  detail.  If  poetry  is  to  be  treated  seriously  in  school 
(and  I  repeat  that  there  are  legitimate  doubts  on  this 
matter  —  doubts  which  experiment  and  careful  obser- 
vation alone  can  solve) ,  then  we  must  treat  metaphors 
seriously ;  and  this  is  possible  only  in  some  such  way 
as  has  been  indicated. 

The  employment  of  familiarity.  —  There  are,  of 
course,  other  forms  of  "  positive  preparation  "  than  the 
one  above  discussed.  The  "  overture  "  to  an  opera 
is  usually  a  collection  of  the  melodies  that  will  appear 
in  the  body  of  the  opera  itself.  The  musician  intro- 
duces them  at  the  outset  in  order  that  the  pleasur- 
ableness  of  famiUarity  may  enhance  the  pleasurable- 
ness  of  the  musical  beauty  of  the  passages.  Now, 
this    "  overture  "    type   of    "  positive   preparation  " 


50  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

is  important  in  the  appreciation  of  poetry  and  prose 
as  well  as  in  the  appreciation  of  music.  The  teacher 
may  dehberately  seek  to  enhance  the  effectiveness  of 
a  great  passage  by  quoting  fragments  of  it  long  in 
advance  of  its  systematic  presentation.  The  "  apper- 
ception "  here  is  cruder  and  more  primitive  in  type 
than  that  involved  in  the  appreciation  of  metaphors 
and  similes,  but  it  is  hardly  less  important.  It  illus- 
trates a  fundamental  principle  which  the  philosophy 
of  aesthetics  has  never  adequately  recognized:  the 
principle,  namely,  that  famiharity,  habituation,  and 
custom  are  prime  factors  in  determining  our  likes  and 
dislikes. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  THRESHOLD   OF  THE  LESSON  — AND  OVER 

Hitherto  I  have  been  considering  very  far-away 
devices  of  preparing  pupils  for  appreciating  a  work 
of  art.  But  preparation  cannot  go  on  forever.  The 
time  comes  when  the  lesson  itself  must  be  given.  But 
now,  on  the  very  threshold  of  it,  the  need  for  still 
other  modes  of  preparation  becomes  manifest,  though 
some  of  these  concern  the  preparation  of  the  teacher 
rather  than  of  the  pupil. 

Wagner  again.  —  A  very  important  phase  of  the 
teacher's  preparation  is  indicated  clearly  by  Wagner :  — 

"I  tried  to  get  the  three  hundred  singers  into  a  state  of 
genuine  ecstasy.  For  instance,  I  succeeded  in  demonstrating 
to  the  basses  that  the  celebrated  passage  .  .  .  could  not  be 
sung  in  an  ordinary  manner,  but  must,  as  it  were,  be  pro- 
claimed with  the  greatest  rapture." 

In  the  present  case  we  are  concerned  not  with  three 
hundred  singers  but  with  one  teacher,  and  the  prac- 
tical inference  for  him  is  that  he  should  get  himself, 
like  them,  into  a  state  of  what  Wagner  calls  "  ecstasy  " 
or  "  rapture."  If  this  is  impossible,  —  if  the  poem 
does  not  appeal  to  him  and  if  he  can  generate  no 

SI 


52  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

enthusiasm  for  it,  —  he  should  ask  to  be  relieved  of  the 
task  of  teaching  it. 

Wagner  gives  us  further  details  of  how  he  prepared 
his  orchestra  for  an  expressive  rendering  of  the  Ninth 
Symphony:  — 

"I  made  all  kinds  of  notes  myself  in  the  various  parts,  so 
as  to  make  sure  that  their  interpretation  would  be  as  clear  and 
as  colored  as  possible." 

Now  the  teacher,  to  be  successful,  must  take  anal- 
ogous steps.  He  must  go  over  the  poem  or  the 
passage  to  himself,  again  and  again,  trying  one  mode 
of  emphasis  after  another,  stopping  here,  stopping 
there,  reading  a  phrase  slowly,  reading  it  fast,  and  at 
last  deciding  in  his  own  mind  which  is  the  very  best 
mode  of  all ;  and  then,  if  necessary,  he  should  mark 
this  mode  on  his  copy.  Not  that  there  is  any  one  way 
of  reading  a  passage  that  can  be  safely  prescribed  for 
all  people ;  but  there  will  be  one  way  for  each  indi- 
vidual, and  he  must  find  it  out  if  he  is  to  make  a  suc- 
cess of  the  appreciation  lesson. 

Consider,  for  example,  the  closing  lines  in  Keats's  Ode  to 
Psyche:  — 

"  And  there  shall  be  for  thee  all  soft  delight 
That  shadowy  thought  can  win, 
A  bright  torch  and  a  casement  ope  at  night, 
To  let  the  warm  love  in." 

There  are  two  distinct  ways  in  which,  before  now,  I  have 
read  these  lines.     One  way  is  to  make  a  long  pause  after  the 


THE  THRESHOLD   OF   THE   LESSON  — AND   OVER      53 

word  "love";  this  produces  an  effect  of  wistful  realization  or 
consummation;  the  visitant  comes  at  last,  and  the  heart  is 
at  rest.  But  the  lines  may  also  be  read  rapidly  and  without 
any  such  pause  ;  there  is  then  more  bustle  and  swoop.  Who 
is  to  say  which  is  the  better  rendering  ?  One  thing  is  certain ; 
we  must  not  compromise  in  matters  of  expression ;  we  must 
choose  our  rendering  and  make  it  a  very  definite  one  for  our 
pupils'  ears;  it  must  be,  as  Wagner  said,  "clear  and  colored." 
Better  to  be  guilty  of  exaggeration  here  than  of  tameness : 
better  to  force  into  the  poet's  Lines  more  meaning  than  was 
intended  than  to  leave  any  shade  of  meaning  out.  "If  in  a 
matter  of  scholarship  it  is  well  to  be  safe  or  even  to  'hedge,' 
in  a  matter  of  Art  any  such  cowardice  is  fatal."  ^ 

But  even  marks  of  expression  inserted  in  the 
teacher's  printed  copy  may  not  be  enough.  He 
should  generally  know  the  poem  by  heart.  I  speak 
doubtfully,  because  to  know  a  poem  too  well  is,  in 
some  cases,  to  lose  interest  in  it.  Actors,  after  a 
long  season,  become  machines,  and  lose  in  feeling 
what  they  gain  in  facility;  they  are  "overtrained." 
Wagner,  indeed,  refers  to  this  in  another  passage  of  his 
Autobiography;  his  Tannhduser  artistes  were  over- 
trained during  the  famous  Paris  struggle.  But  to 
know  a  poem  or  a  song  inadequately  is  far  more 
fatal.  The  principle  of  ''  distraction  "  comes  in 
here ;  instead  of  being  free  to  express  the  emotion  of 
the  poem,  the  teacher,  in  order  to  know  the  words 
that  come  next,  has  constantly  to  refer  to  his  copy, 

'  Gilbert  Murray,  Euripides,  p.  ix. 


54  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

thus  scattering  his  attention  and  dissipating  his 
emotion.  Probably,  as  abready  remarked,  individ- 
uals differ ;  but  there  is  evidently  a  strong  case  for 
knowing  the  poem  well  if  not  by  heart. 

*'  Immediate  preparation."  —  And  now,  at  last,  the 
teacher  is  ready  for  his  lesson.  But  are  the  pupils 
ready?  Certainly  they  are  more  nearly  in  the  atti- 
tude that  is  favorable  to  keen  appreciation  than  they 
would  have  been  if  negative  and  positive  preparation 
had  been  neglected.  But  are  there  no  finishing 
touches  to  be  given  to  the  long  process  discussed  in 
the  preceding  chapters?  I  think  that  there  are. 
There  is  a  need  for  something  that  may  be  called 
immediate  preparation. 

One  is  reminded  of  the  traditional  "  formal  steps  " 
of  the  Herbartians.  The  first  of  these,  as  applied 
to  a  lesson-unit,^  is  known  as  "  preparation " ; 
and,  although  I  am  not  aware  that  either  Herbart 
or  his  follower  Ziller  recommended  the  pioneering  of 
metaphors  and  the  other  devices  discussed  above, 
and  although  Ziller  was  perhaps  too  keenly  interested 
in  the  notion  of  a  definite  "  lesson  "  (or  "  method- 
unit  ")  to  contemplate  the  possibility  of  this  far-away 
and  almost  discursive  preparation,  both  men  would 

^  Perhaps  I  ought  to  point  out  here  that  a  complete  "lesson"  is 
not  conceived  in  this  book  as  a  single  period  of  thirty,  forty,  or  sixty 
minutes'  duration.  It  may  be  of  any  length  and  be  distributed  over 
minutes,  days,  weeks,  or  months. 


THE  THRESHOLD   OF  THE  LESSON  —  AND   OVER      55 


doubtless  have  approved  of  the  general  procedure 
here  suggested;  it  is,  in  fact,  an  obvious  corollary 
from  their  basic  doctrine  of  "  apperception." 

The  five  formal  steps.  —  Consider  the  function  of 
preparation  in  the  scheme  of  the  five  steps.^  This 
first  step  has  often  been  criticized  on  the  ground  that 
it  deteriorates  into  a  discursive  and  mystifying  talk, 
—  a  mere  waste  of  the  pupils'  time,  —  while  the  lesson 
itself  is  kept  waiting.  Particularly  has  it  been  criti- 
cized when  attempts  have  been  made  to  "  educe  " 
from  the  pupils  things  that  they  cannot  be  expected 
to  know  or  at  best  can  only  guess  at.  Some  educa- 
tionists have  even  objected,  less  justly,  to  Ziller's 
proposal  that  the  "  aim  "  of  the  lesson  should  be 
clearly  stated  to  the  pupils. 

Yet  surely  something  akin  to  "  stating  the  aim  " 
should  be  a  phase  of  most  lessons.  Great  epic  poems 
have  rightly  begun  with  a  summary  of  their  theme : 
"  Achilles'  wrath  "  in  the  Iliad;  "  Arms  and  the  man," 
in  the  yEneid;   "  Man's  first  disobedience  "  in  Para- 


^  First  step  :      Preparation 
Second  step :   Presentation 
Third  step :     Association 


Observing : 


Fourth  step ; 


Fifth  step : 


(Sometimes  called 
Comparison  and 
Abstraction) 

Formulation 

(Sometimes  called 
Generalization) 

Application 


Thinking 


Applying 


56  THE   LESSON   IN  APPRECIATION 

dise  Lost;  and  there  is  every  reason  why  our  lesson 
should  begin  in  somewhat  the  same  way.  Sometimes 
the  aim  of  a  lesson  can  only  be  vaguely  expressed,  for 
until  actually  attained  it  cannot  be  fully  grasped ; 
still,  Ziller's  principle  is  essentially  a  sound  one,  and 
is  closely  akin  to  the  previous  proposal  that  antici- 
patorj^  excitement  should  be  worked  up. 

Ziller  went  further  than  this.  He  maintained  that, 
during  the  step  of  preparation,  the  teacher  should 
call  up  such  ideas  as  would  help  the  process  of  apper- 
ception in  the  second  stage  of  the  lesson  (presentation) , 
and  prevent  the  material  there  presented  from  para- 
lyzing by  its  suddenness  and  unfamiliarity.  Here 
again  he  seems  to  be  thoroughly  justified.  The  only 
necessary  amendment  to  his  proposal  is  that  this 
process  should  extend  further  back  and  be  elaborated 
into  the  positive  and  negative  preparation  of  the 
present  book. 

In  Flachsmann  ah  Erzieher,  an  educational  drama 
deservedly  popular  in  Germany,  the  function  of  the 
step  of  preparation  in  the  appreciation  lesson  has  been 
impressively  set  forth.  Dr.  Prell,  the  school  inspector, 
is  speaking  to  the  hero  of  the  play,  the  classmaster, 
Fleming :  — 

"Your  literature  lesson  was  particularly  good.  Superb. 
Just  superb.  I  never  thought  a  real  lyric  could  be  brought 
home  to  a  child.  I  see  it  can  be  done.  You  did  not  tear  or 
hack  the  poem.     You  first  carefully  prepared  the  mind  and 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  THE  LESSON  —  AND  OVER      57 

mood;  you  got  the  soil  ready  for  the  poem,  within  the  chil- 
dren, and  then  you  raised  the  whole  living  plant,  rootlets  and 
all,  and  planted  it  straight  in  the  children's  hearts.  Not  first 
in  their  heads.  That  was  a  solemn  moment.  There  was 
the  true  consecration  of  art.  .  .  .  You  could  hear  their 
hearts  throb.  I  must  confess  to  you  mine  throbbed  too.  I, 
too,  was  your  scholar.  .  .  .  When  you  stopped  all  the  chil- 
dren gave  a  —  Ha  !    I  gave  one  too." 

There  are  several  points  here  to  be  noted  already 
familiar,  by  implication,  to  the  reader.  There  is, 
for  example,  a  protest  against  "  tearing  and  hacking  " 
a  poem,  the  dispensing  of  it  in  bits,  in  single  phrases, 
or  single  stanzas,  so  that  no  continuous  wave  of  apper- 
ception and  appreciation  is  possible.  To  a  discussion 
of  that  fatal  policy  we  shall  return  at  a  later  stage. 
But  if  it  is  important  that  the  poem  should  not  be 
"  torn  and  hacked,"  it  is  equally  obvious  that  the 
teacher  must  not  intercalate  explanations  of  words, 
or,  still  worse,  a  catechism  on  the  meanings  of  words, 
during  the  appreciation  lesson  itself.  Thus  again 
we  are  driven  back  to  negative  and  positive  prepara- 
tion. But  something  more,  something  in  addition 
even  to  this,  must  precede  the  giving  of  the  poem. 
It  is  the  preparation  of  the  "  mind  and  mood."  But 
unfortunately  our  manuals  of  school  methods  do  not 
give  us  much  help  here,  though  moods  and  attitudes 
are  of  importance  in  connection  with  every  form  of 
mental  activity,  and  are  of  basic  importance  in  connec- 
tion with  appreciation. 


58  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

Preparing  the  mind  and  mood.  —  What,  then,  is 
to  be  done?  It  would  not  be  difficult  to  answer  the 
question  if  we  knew  what  poem  was  to  be  taught. 
For  poems  in  general,  it  is  impossible  to  provide  a 
"  blanket  "  prescription.  Each  poem  is  an  individual 
thing  and  needs  its  own  specific  treatment. 

In  some  cases,  the  mere  vague  "  statement  of  the 
aim,"  following  upon  the  working  up  of  anticipatory 
interest,  may  be  quite  enough  in  itself ;  "  I  am  going 
to  recite  to  you  a  poem  about  a  great  man  who  .  .  . 
(or  a  famous  episode  which  .  .  .),"  and  if  the  poet's 
life  or  the  famous  episode  is  already  known,  this 
task  should  be  fairly  easy.  In  other  cases,  and  par- 
ticularly when  the  poem  is  greater  on  the  intellectual 
than  on  the  sensuous  or  rhythmical  side,  a  problem  or 
question  may  be  propounded  for  solution  :  "  What  do 
you  think  the  people  were  doing  (or  ought  to  have 
done)  during  that  great  event?  .  .  .  Now  listen  to 
this."  Sometimes  the  problem  itself  may  be  one  of 
poetical  form.  "  I  am  going  to  recite  to  you  a  poem 
in  a  very  different  kind  of  meter  from  the  last,  and  I 
shall  ask  you  to  tell  me  what  you  think  about  it." 
Professor  Bagley  mentions  the  case  of  a  teacher  who 
prefaced  the  reading  of  Dryden's  Alexander's  Feast 
by  the  remark,  "  This  poem  contains  two  of  the  finest 
lines  in  English  literature.  Try  to  find  them."  The 
class  was,  of  course,  "  all  attention  "  to  discover  the 
lines. 


THE  THRESHOLD   OF  THE  LESSON  —  AND  OVER      59 

But  Dr.  Prell  meant  something  more  even  than 
this  by  "  preparing  the  mind  and  the  mood."  In 
the  case  of  poems  that,  Hke  Tennyson's  Break,  Break, 
Break,  touch  deep  chords  of  human  emotion,  some- 
thing more  than  stating  the  aim  or  propounding  a 
problem  is  required ;  a  solemn  hush  may  here  be  the 
favorable  environmental  condition  for  the  most 
effective  appreciation.  Perhaps  some  recalled  memory 
of  a  sorrow  or  a  loss  —  far  enough  in  the  past  to  have 
lost  the  poignancy  of  anguish  —  should  preface  the 
hearing  of  the  poem  itself.  One  is  here,  of  course, 
assuming  in  the  teacher  very  high  and  almost  magical 
qualities  which  will  enable  him  to  play  upon  his 
class  as  a  skilled  musician  might  play  upon  the  keys 
of  a  musical  instrument,  or,  to  change  the  illustration, 
as  Antony  played  upon  the  emotions  of  the  crowd 
assembled  in  the  Forum.  The  successful  teacher  of 
literature  must  be  able  now  to  tease  his  class  into 
the  critical  attitude  suitable  for  the  reception  of  a 
problematic,  argumentative  poem,  now  to  excite  them 
into  the  boiling-point  condition  of  emotional  temper- 
ature that  is  essential  to  the  appreciation  of  a  poem 
of  heroism  or  of  dramatic  conflict  between  right  and 
wrong,  and  now  to  chill  their  hearts  with  anticipatory 
dread,  somewhat  after  the  fashion  of  Edgar  Allen  Poe's 
opening  paragraphs  to  Shadow,  Silence,  and  others  of 
his  gruesome  tales. ^ 

^  There  are  possibilities,  too,  in  color  decoration. 


6o  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

More  than  these  few  hints  it  is  impossible  to  give 
in  the  present  stage  of  our  knowledge  concerning  the 
intricate  psychology  of  what  we  call  attitudes  and 
moods.  The  hints  are  all  too  meager;  but  if  they 
do  nothing  more  than  direct  the  reader's  attention 
to  the  importance  of  the  problem  at  issue  they  will 
not  have  been  made  in  vain. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  HOUR  OF  APPRECIATION 

The  teacher  has  prepared  the  "  mind  and  the 
mood  "  and  is  at  last  ready  to  present  the  new  poem 
to  the  class.  In  fact,  the  main  business  of  the  appre- 
ciation lesson  has  now  to  be  accomplished. 

Read  as  if  you  were  Talking?  What  rule  of 
procedure  is  he  to  follow?  Almost  exactly  the  op- 
posite one  to  the  rule  commonly  promulgated  in 
schools,  "  Read  as  if  you  were  talking." 

Many  years  ago  Coleridge  pointed  out  the  peda- 
gogical error  "  of  tormenting  poor  children  to  enforce 
the  necessity  of  reading  as  they  would  talk : "  — 

"  In  order  to  cure  them  of  singing,  as  it  is  called,  that 
is,  of  too  great  difference,  the  child  is  made  to  repeat  the  words 
with  his  eyes  off  the  book ;  and  then,  indeed,  his  tones  resemble 
talking,  as  far  as  his  fearS;  tears,  and  trembling  will  permit. 
But  as  soon  as  the  eye  is  again  directed  to  the  printed  page, 
the  spell  begins  anew ;  for  an  instinctive  sense  teUs  the  child's 
feelings  that  to  utter  its  own  momentary  thoughts,  and  to 
recite  the  written  thought  of  another,  are  two  widely  different 
things."  1 

^  S.  T.  Coleridge,  Biographia  Literaria,  ch.  xviii.  (It  would 
appear  from  what  Coleridge  says  that  Joseph  Lancaster,  of  "moni- 
torial" fame,  was  responsible  for  the  maxim  against  which  he  pro- 
tests.) 

6i 


62  THE   LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

Coleridge  is  here  referring  to  ordinary  prose,  not  to  stately 
prose  or  poetry  ;  his  words  would  be  still  more  —  far  more  — 
pertinent  if  applied  to  them ;  and  indeed  he  specifically  argues 
against  Wordsworth's  principle  that  there  is  or  should  be  no 
essential  difference  between  verse  and  prose. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  understand  how  this  maxim 
arose.  The  child  cannot  possibly  throw  into  his 
reading  voice  the  natural  intonations  of  ordinary 
speech  because  in  the  latter  the  starting  point  is  a 
thought,  which  then  proceeds  to  clothe  itself  in  a 
complete  or  ostensibly  complete  set  of  rhythms.  In 
reading,  on  the  other  hand,  the  starting  point  is  a 
printed  sign,  perhaps  itself  only  half  familiar  to  the 
child.  The  two  processes  evidently  stand  in  sharp 
contrast ;  the  teacher  feels  this,  and  tries  to  make  the 
one  process  resemble  the  other.  Of  course  there  is 
no  reason,  once  the  child  has  interpreted  the  printed 
signs  (i.e.  has  grasped  the  thought  they  convey)  why 
the  teacher  should  not  direct  the  child  to  say  the  sen- 
tence in  a  "  natural  "  fashion.  But  we  must  never 
forget  that  the  expression  of  secondhand  thoughts 
can  never  be  quite  so  vigorous  and  lively  as  the  expres- 
sion of  our  own  thoughts,  at  least  until  almost  innu- 
merable repetitions  accompanied  by  powerful  appre- 
ciation have  made  the  thoughts  quite  our  own.  And 
we  must  never  forget  that  the  expression  of  second- 
hand thoughts  is,  consequently,  less  valuable  as  a 
means  of  training  in  the  art  of  expression  than  the 


THE  HOUR  OF  APPRECIATION  63 

expression  of  spontaneous  and  so-called  original 
thoughts.  On  the  other  hand  the  secondhand 
thoughts  of  great  men  expressed  in  poetry  or  in  fine 
prose  demand  a  style  and  dignity  that  we  do  not 
commonly  employ  for  our  own. 

Bernard  Shaw's  opinion  of  the  elocutionist.  —  The 
elocutionist's  attempt  to  "  read  as  he  would  talk  " 
has  led  Bernard  Shaw  to  describe  him  as  a  "  bom 
fool,"  —  in  which  capacity,  "  observing  with  pain 
that  poets  have  a  weakness  for  imparting  to  their 
dramatic  dialogue  a  quality  which  he  describes  and 
deplores  as  '  sing-song,'  he  devotes  his  life  to  the  art 
of  breaking  up  verse  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  it  sound 
like  insanely  pompous  prose."  ^  Clearly,  if  a  poet 
has  deliberately  emphasized  his  purpose  by  imposing 
regular  rhythms  on  his  work,  it  cannot  be  right  for 
us  to  destroy  or  obscure  those  rhythms.  But  it  has 
already  been  pointed  out  that  the  finest  blank  verse 
is  fine  because  its  authors  knew  how  to  employ  the 
natural  prose  rhythms  of  ordinary  speech.  "  He  hates 
him  that  would  upon  the  rack  of  this  tough  world 
stretch  him  out  longer  "  is  far  more  nearly  related 
to  grand  prose  than  to  lyrical  poetry.  Poetical  rhythm 
is  there,  but  it  is  interwoven  subtly  with  prose  rhythm. 

On  the  other  hand,  Shakespeare's  earlier  plays  are 
written  in  a  style  much  less  close  to  a  natural  prose. 
They  are  full,  as  Mr.  Shaw  says,  of  the  "  naive  deUght 
^  Dramatic  Opinions  and  Essays,  i,  p.  26. 


64  THE  LESSON   IN  APPRECIATION 

of  pure  oscillation,  to  be  enjoyed  as  an  Italian  enjoys 
a  barcarolle,  or  a  child  a  swing."  Their  rhetorical 
effect  is  grand,  but  there  is  an  absence  of  the  supreme 
poignancy  which  has  made  many  passages  in  Mac- 
beth, Lear,  Othello,  and  Hamlet  immortal. 

"How  oft  the  sight  of  means  to  do  ill  deeds 
Make  ill  deeds  done  " 

in  King  John  is  fine,  but  it  is  not  equal  to 

"Duncan  is  in  his  grave. 
After  life's  fitful  fever  he  sleeps  well." 

Two  rules  for  expression.  —  From  this  brief  dis- 
cussion, two  rules  may  be  deduced  :  — 

(i)  Do  7iot  use  a  base,  colloquial  style  in  the  belief 
that  this  is  "  reading  as  if  you  were  speaking." 

I  have  heard  the  Bible  read  in  two  ways,  equally 
unworthy  of  its  place  in  literature  and  in  thought. 
The  first  way  was  a  ridiculous  chant-like  sing-song, 
affected  by  the  clergy.  The  second,  a  kind  of  protest 
against  this,  was  familiar,  vulgar,  and  chatty.  I 
can  conceive  of  very  few  instances  in  which  a  teacher 
should  use  a  base  colloquial  style  in  reading  poetry. 
A  few  pieces  of  Kipling  and  of  Browning  (one  from  the 
latter  is  a  school  favorite,  The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin) 
demand  something  of  this  sort,  but  almost  all  poems 
worthy  of  being  given  a  place  in  our  lessons  in  af>- 
preciation  demand  dignity  of  treatment. 

(2)   Preserve,  therefore,  the  rhythm  of  the  poem. 


THE  HOUR  OF   APPRECIATION  6$ 

In  the  greatest  blank  verse,  the  more  ' '  naturally ' '  you 
/ead — the  more  feelingly  and  understandingly  —  the 
more  rhythmically  you  will  read.  The  great  poet  really 
does  the  work  for  you  and  you  cannot  go  wrong  except 
from  haste  or  from  obeying  the  maxims  of  the  elocution- 
ist. In  mediocre  blank  verse  and  in  rhyming  poetry 
there  will  be  occasional  opposition  between  rhythm  and 
sense.  In  that  case  judge  for  yourself,  but  do  not  hesi- 
tate sometimes  to  give  rhythm  your  vote,  and  enjoy  the 
poem  "  as  an  Italian  a  barcarolle  or  a  child  a  swing." 
Throw  to  the  winds  the  strange  notion  that  rhythm 
should  be  destroyed  by  every  means  in  your  power,  — 
the  absurd  notion  that  if,  for  example,  there  is  no 
comma  at  the  end  of  a  metrical  line  you  must  run  on 
at  double-quick  speed  in  order  to  conceal  the  fact  that 
there  are  metrical  lines  at  all.  This  policy  of  "  curing 
the  children  of  singing  "  has  done  untold  mischief. 

As  a  general  rule,  then,  it  may  be  said  that  regular 
rhythm  is  all-important;  but  as  the  child  grows 
older,  his  "  ear  "  for  rhythm  may  become  sufficiently 
delicate  to  justify  various  apparent  irregularities 
introduced  for  the  sake  of  expressiveness.  To  set 
ourselves  to  destroy  rhythm  as  if  it  were  an  accursed 
thing  is  a  perfectly  fatuous  procedure. 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  the  teacher  in  reading  poetry 
should  pay  scant  attention  to  the  printer's  stops; 
he  should  make  his  own ;  and  this  kind  of  thing  he 
should  especially  avoid :  — 


66  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

"The  shades  of  night  were  falling  fast 
As  through  an  Alpine  village  |  passed 
A  youth  I  who  bore  mid  snow  and  ice 
A  banner  |  with  this  strange  device 

Excelsior." 

Quite  enough  continuity  between  one  metrical  line 
and  another  is  preserved  by  means  of  a  rising  inflec- 
tion of  the  voice  at  the  words  "  passed  "  and  "  ice" ; 
if  the  teacher  gives  this,  he  can,  if  he  choose,  make 
pauses  of  considerable  length. 

Pronunciation  of  proper  names.  —  Not  only  is 
there  a  tendency  among  elocutionists  and  teachers 
to  ignore  or  weaken  the  rhythm  of  a  poem,  but  now 
and  then  there  is  what  seems  to  be  a  deliberate  selec- 
tion of  the  most  impossible  pronunciations  of  proper 
names  in  order  to  pervert  or  annihilate  it.  This  is 
fortimately  rare,  but  cases  of  the  kind  have  come  to 
my  notice  either  from  observation  or  from  hearsay. 
I  take  for  illustration  a  passage  from  Hiawatha:  — 

"Two  good  friends  had  Hiawatha, 
Singled  out  from  all  the  others, 
Bound  to  him  in  closest  union, 
And  to  whom  he  gave  the  right  hand 
Of  his  heart  in  joy  and  sorrow ; 
Chibiabos  the  musician 
And  the  very  strong  man  Kwasind. 

"Most  beloved  of  Hiawatha 
Was  the  gentle  Chibiabos.  .  .  ." 


THE  HOUR  OF   APPRECIATION  67 

Actually,  I  have  heard  "  Chibiabos  "  transformed 
into"  Chibiabos," and  the  regular  trochees  of  the  poem 
thus  utterly  ruined ! 

Again  :  a  certain  king  of  Clusium 

"  By  the  Nine  Gods  he  swore 

That  the  great  house  of  Tarquin 
Should  suffer  wrong  no  more. 

By  the  Nine  Gods  he  swore  it 
And  named  a  trysting  day, 

And  bade  his  messengers  ride  forth 

East  and  west  and  south  and  north 
To  summon  his  array. 

"East  and  west  and  south  and  north 

The  messengers  ride  fast, 
And  tower  and  town  and  cottage 

Have  heard  the  trumpet's  blast. 
Shame  on  the  false  Etruscan 

Who  lingers  in  his  home 

When  Porsena  of  Clusium 
Is  on  the  march  to  Rome." 

The  word  "  Porsena  "  has  been  deliberately  and 
perversely  changed  to  "  Porsena  "  in  order  to  ruin 
the  rhythm ! 

Classical  meters.  —  One  more  word  on  the  subject 
of  rhythm.  If  the  teacher  tries  to  teach  such  a  poem 
as  Evangeline  he  must  first  realize  that  each  line  of 
it  is  supposed  to  represent  a  classical  (Greek  or  Latin) 
verse  of  six  feet,  with  each  foot  either  a  dactyl  (_  w  w) 


68  THE   LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

or  a  spondee  ( ),  the  fifth  foot  invariably  the  former 

and  the  sixth  generally  the  latter. 

In  the  Acadian  land  on  the  shores  of  the  basin  of  Minas  .  .  . 

The  attempt  to  write  hexameters  in  English  is  not 
usually  regarded  with  favor,  because  length  of  syllable 
is  not  the  basis  of  our  poetry,  but  rather  accent  and 
certain  natural  prose  rhythms.  Still  there  are  a  good 
many  so-called  hexameters  imbedded  in  English  prose  : 
Dickens,  in  his  eloquent  moments,  lapses  or  rises  into 
them,  and  they  are  not  uncommon  in  the  Bible,  e.g.  — 

"God  is  gone  up  with  a  shout,  the  Lord  with  the  sound  of  a 

trumpet." 
"  Israel  doth  not  know,  my  people  doth  not  consider." 

In  any  case,  if  such  a  poem  as  Evangeline  is 
attempted,  the  hexametric  structure  must  be  pre- 
served and  not  ruined  through  ignorance  or  through 
straining  after  a  jerky,  colloquial  "  expressiveness." 

The  preservation  of  poetical  units.  —  It  has  been 
urged  that  the  first  impression  of  a  work  of  art  is  of 
unique  importance.  But  it  must  be  a  total  impression, 
—  an  impression  of  the  whole,  not  of  dissected  scraps. 
The  teacher  of  appreciation  should  not  "  tear  and 
hack  the  poem." 

For  this  reason  the  teacher  must  select  his  units 
with  great  care  and  generally  they  should  be  either 
complete  poems  or  substantial  fragments  of  adefi- 


THE  HOUR  OF  APPRECIATION  69 

nitely  unitary  character.  Of  course  the  notion  of  a 
"  unit  "  is  relative,  for  one  unit  may  exist  within 
another.  Single  quotations  of  even  a  few  words 
separated  from  their  context  may,  because  of  their 
compactness  of  thought  and  perfection  of  language, 
be  quite  legitimately  regarded  as  units. 

"The  gods  are  just  and  of  our  innocent  vices 
Make  instruments  to  plague  us." 

"As  flies  to  wanton  boys  so  we  to  the  gods; 
They  kill  us  for  their  sport." 

Although  these  passages  would  be  immensely  bene- 
fited by  having  their  context  supplied,  they  possess  a 
relative  unity  of  their  own,  and  no  one  but  a  pedant 
would  forbid  a  senior  pupil  to  learn  them  without 
learning  the  whole  of  King  Lear.  In  other  cases,  a 
single  stanza  may  be  legitimately  regarded  as  a  unit.^ 
When,  therefore,  it  is  affirmed  that  the  teacher  should 
employ  only  poetical  imits,  the  advice  must  be  inter- 
preted broadly  and  sensibly. 

In  my  schooldays,  long  before  the  "lesson  in  appreciation," 
and  long  before  principles  of  "first  impression"  and  "total 
impression"  had  been  worked  out,  we  were  required  to  learn 
one  hundred  lines  of  poetry  every  year.  In  fact,  our  regular 
name  for  this  work  was  not  poetry,  or  literature,  but  "lines." 
One  selected  poem  was  Macaulay's  Horatius.  But,  instead 
of  the  teacher's  reciting  the  whole  inspiring  work,  resonant 
with  splendid  names  like  "Cortona"  and  "Pampeluna,"  and 

1  See  examples  for  Arnold  and  Whittier,  p.  37. 


70  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

subsequently  allowing  us  to  select  passages  for  personal  recita- 
tion, he  was  so  bent  upon  getting  the  one  hundred  lines  securely 
lodged  in  our  memories,  that  he  read  or  recited  nothing  of  the 
first  third  of  the  poem,  and  after  a  mere  hint  of  the  Etruscan 
invasion,  commenced  with  the  unpromising  word,  "but." 

"But  the  consul's  brow  was  sad. 
And  the  consul's  speech  was  low." 

It  is  surely  obvious  that  we  cannot  work  up  con- 
trasts, climaxes,  or  other  effects  of  consecutiveness  if 
we  "  tear  and  hack  the  poem  "  into  disjecta  membra. 
Consider,  in  The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus  —  a  beautiful 
ballad,  almost  universally  ignored  by  teachers  in 
England  on  the  ground  of  its  being  "  hackneyed  " 
and  not  so  well  known  as  it  should  be  in  America  — 
the  three  stanzas  in  which  the  girl  appeals  to  her 
father  in  a  crescendo  of  anxiety.  She  has  heard  the 
church  bells ;  she  has  heard  the  sound  of  the  guns ; 
she  sees  a  gleaming  light.  To  keep  these  stanzas 
in  isolation  from  each  other  is  to  lose  completely  the 
chmax  to  which  the  poet  has  so  artfully  worked  up. 

Of  course  the  temptation  to  break  a  poem  into 
fragments  is  not  so  powerful  at  this  stage  as  at  a  later 
and  more  famihar  stage,  when  the  pupil  is  directed 
to  learn  the  poem  by  heart,  as  I  had  to  learn  Horatius. 
Reading  or  reciting  to  a  class  is  even  now  a  rare  thing 
in  English  schools  and  only  a  Httle  less  rare  in  America. 
But  the  warning  may  not  be  wholly  useless  even  at 
this  place  in  the  discussion. 


THE  HOUR  OF  APPRECIATION  7 1 

The  "  flavor  "  of  words  and  the  cause  of  it.  —  Not 
only  should  we  preserve  the  artistic  unities,  but  we 
should  scrupulously  preserve  —  we  should  sometimes 
seek  to  intensify  —  the  flavor  of  words.  This  does 
not  refer  to  the  associational  devices  discussed  under 
the  head  of  positive  preparation  and  illustrated  by 
words  Uke  "  rack  "  ;  the  reference  here  is  to  the  "  flavor  " 
of  words  as  such  —  apart  from  their  meaning. 

From  causes  deeply  rooted  in  our  nervous  organiza- 
tion, certain  sounds  and  combinations  of  sounds  strike 
us  as  pleasant  and  certain  others  as  neutral  or  un- 
pleasant. Most  people  would  admit  that  words  Hke 
"Paradise,"  "  Perugino,"  "Arabia,"  "Urania," 
"  Daphne,"  "Leonardo,"  "Mozambique,"  "Orontes" 
"  Alabama,"  "  Minnehaha,"  "  Cahfornia,"  are  beauti- 
ful words.  What  makes  them  beautiful?  It  is 
sometimes  hard  to  answer  this  question,  but  generally 
we  find  that  beautiful  words  contain  Hquid  sounds 
{I  and  r)  and  long  vowels ;  also  perhaps  nasal  sounds 
(w,  m)  and  soft  soothing  sounds  (z,  th).  Vaguely 
we  can  see  the  principle  of  non-distraction  operative 
here ;  awkward,  difl&cult  consonantal  combinations 
(sts,  ct,  etc.)  are  not  beautiful. 

And  what  makes  a  phrase  or  a  verse  beautiful  from 
this  point  of  view?  Partly  the  presence  of  beautiful 
words  but  also  the  presence  of  alHterative  and  asso- 
nantal  combinations  of  words.  AlHteration  is  the 
repetition  of  a  certain  consonant  (usually  at  the  begin- 


72  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

ning  of  a  word)  and  assonance  is  the  repetition  of  a 
vowel. 

Repetition.  —  We  here  alight  upon  a  most  funda- 
mental principle  of  aesthetics,  —  as  important  in 
music  as  in  poetry  and  in  plastic  ornament  as  in  music. 
An  element  of  expectation,  an  element  of  "  I  told  you 
that  was  coming,"  adds  notably  to  the  pleasure  of 
life,  and  when  it  is  combined  with  the  element  of 
ease  supplied  by  repetition,  it  explains  much  of  the 
pleasure  of  poetr>'.  Rhyme  itself  is  one  form  of 
repetition,  so  is  rhythm,  and  so  is  the  "  parallelism  " 
of  Hebrew  poetry  as  in  the  passage  above  quoted :  — 

"  God  is  gone  up  with  a  shout, 
The  Lord  with  the  sound  of  a  trumpet." 

Time  after  time  we  find  that  a  Une  or  phrase  which 
has  struck  our  fancy  owes  its  charm  to  repetition  in 
one  or  another  of  these  forms. 

It  is  said  that  a  small  boy,  on  being  asked  which  verse  of 
the  Bible  he  liked  best,  voted  for 

"That  ancient  river,  the  river  Kishon." 

No  doubt  the  charm  of  the  line  was  due  in  part  to  its  four  r's. 
My  own  youthful  fancy  was  impressed  by  the  line, 

"Is  not  this  great  Babylon  that  I  have  built  ?" 

The  word  "Babylon"  seemed  to  me  a  magnificent  word,  and 
its  6's  are  further  alliterated  in  the  word  "built."  A  friend  of 
mine  was  as  a  boy  greatly  impressed  by  Dryden's  couplet :  — 

"War,  he  sung,  is  toil  and  trouble, 
Honor  but  an  empty  bubble." 


THE  HOUR  OF  APPRECIATION  73 

Maybe,  in  addition  to  the  alliterated  t  and  b,  some  haunting 
memory  of  Shakespeare's 

"Bubble,  bubble,  toil  and  trouble," 

may  have  reinforced  the  charm  of  the  couplet,  for  such  rein- 
forcements are  of  large  importance  in  aesthetics  as  shown  at  the 
end  of  Chapter  IV. 

The  "  refrain,"  often  of  a  liturgical  or  semi-liturgical 
character,  is  one  among  the  many  effective  forms  of 
repetition.  Hiawatha  is  full  of  it  —  the  "  Hi-aw-ha  " 
and  "  Way-ha-way  "  of  the  chorus  in  Section  XV  is 
one  example  among  many.  And  in  the  following 
passage  from  Bernard  Shaw  its  effectiveness  in  prose 
is  seen  to  be  as  great  as  in  poetry :  — 

"In  my  dreams  [heaven]  is  a  country  where  the  State  is 
the  Church  and  the  Church  the  people :  three  in  one  and  one 
in  three.  It  is  a  commonwealth  in  which  work  is  play  and 
play  is  life :  three  in  one  and  one  in  three.  It  is  a  temple  in 
which  the  priest  is  the  worshipper  and  the  worshipper  the  wor- 
shipped :  three  in  one  and  one  in  three.  It  is  a  godhead  in 
which  all  life  is  human  and  all  humanity  divine :  three  in  one 
and  one  in  three."  ^ 

Milton's  mastery  of  words.  —  Milton  had  a  keen 
sense  for  the  flavor  of  words.  Satan's  approach  to 
Eden  is  thus  described  :  — 

"As,  when  to  them  who  sail 
Beyond  the  Cape  of  Hope,  and  now  are  past 
Mozambic,  off  at  sea  northeast  winds  blow 

1  John  BulVs  Other  Island.     Close  to  the  end. 


74  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

Sabean  odors  from  the  spicy  shore 

Of  Araby  the  Blest,  with  such  delay 

Well  pleased  they  slack  their  course,  and  many  a  league 

Cheered  with  the  grateful  smell  old  Ocean  smiles." 

Note  the  alliteration  in  the  fourth  and  fifth  verses 
and  the  soft  rich  words,  "  Mozambic,"  "  Sabean," 
"  Araby."  The  very  words  seem  to  "  blow  odors," 
and  one  can  almost  see  Milton  with  the  liquid  and 
alliterative  phrase  "  Araby  the  Blest  "  in  his  mind, 
resolved  to  use  it.  I  am  inclined  to  believe,  contrary 
to  the  common  view,  that  large  portions  of  Paradise 
Lost,  if  read  to  our  school  classes  in  the  way  such  a 
poem  should  be  read,  would  prove  impressive  and 
that  we  should  find  many  children  wishing  to  learn 
generous  extracts  from  it. 

Note,  too,  the  subtle  alliteration  in  the  noble 
closing  lines  of  the  passage  in  which  Milton  pours  out 
his  sorrow  and  his  hopes :  — 

"Fallen  on  evil  days, 
I  On  evil  days  though  fallen,  and  evil  tongues, 

i  In  darkness  and  with  dangers  compassed  round, 

And  sohtude ;  yet  not  alone,  while  thou 
Visitst  my  slumbers  nightly,  and  while  Mom 
Purples  the  East.     Still  govern  thou  my  song, 
Urania,  and  fit  audience  find,  though  few." 

In  the  following  passage  descriptive  of  Paradise, 
we  find  again  a  deliberate  exploitation  of  beautiful 
words,  mostly  words  that  are  rich  in  nasal,  liquid, 
sibilant,  and  vowel  sounds :  — 


THE  HOUR  OF   APPRECIATION  7$ 

"Not  that  fair  field 
Of  Enna,  where  Proserpine  gathering  flowers, 
Herself  a  fairer  flower,  by  gloomy  Dis 
Was  gathered  —  which  cost  Ceres  all  that  pain 
To  seek  her  through  the  world  —  nor  that  sweet  grove 
Of  Daphne,  by  Orontes  and  the  inspired 
CastaUan  spring,  might  with  this  Paradise 
Of  Eden  strive ;  nor  that  Nyseian  isle, 
Girt  with  the  river  Triton,  where  old  Cham, 
Whom  Gentiles  Ammon  call  and  Libyan  Jove 
Hid  Amalthea,  and  her  florid  son, 
Young  Bacchus,  from  his  stepdame  Rhea's  eye; 
Nor  where  Abassin  Kings  their  issue  guard. 
Mount  Amara  (though  this  by  some  supposed 
True  Paradise)  under  the  Ethiop  Une.  .  .  ." 

In  the  following  passage,  Milton  again  shows  his 
love  of  impressive  geographical  names :  — 

"Harder  beset 
And  more  endangered  than  when  Argo  passed 
Through  Bosphorus  betwixt  the  justhng  rocks, 
Or  when  Ulysses  on  the  larboard  shunned 
Charybdis,  and  by  the  other  whirlpool  steered." 

Certainly  if  we  teach  poetry  at  all,  we  must  de- 
liberately seek  to  produce  and  emphasize  alliterative 
and  other  effects,  and  in  order  to  do  this  we  must 
know,  so  to  speak,  what  the  words  "  taste  Hke  " 
in  advance ;  we  must  explore  them,  exploit  them, 
exhaust  them.  Strong  metaphors  are  necessary  here, 
and  so  I  shall  say,  Let  us  make  the  reading  of  our 
poetry  '  voluptuous.' 


76  THE  LESSON  ESf  APPRECIATION 

We  must  never  forget,  in  short,  that  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  pure  aesthetic  pleasure  quite  independent  of 
intellectual  or  moral  elements.  We  like  to  beat  time 
with  our  feet  to  a  march  tune  ;  we  like  to  repeat  sono- 
rous even  if  meaningless  phrases ;  we  love  recurrence, 
for  the  familiar  has  a  certain  fascination  of  its  own. 

The  poetry  of  Swinburne.  —  The  study  of  Swin- 
burne is  here  particularly  valuable.  The  sensuous 
beauty  of  his  poetry  richly  compensates  —  so  far  as 
anything  can  compensate  —  for  the  occasional  poverty 
of  thought,  the  occasional  lack  of  the  highest  moral 
vision.  True,  there  is  little  in  Swinburne  correspond- 
ing to  Milton's  absolute  perfection  of  phrase ;  there 
is  a  wild  luxuriance  of  language,  a  love  of  words  for 
their  own  sake,  a  repetition  of  the  same  metaphor  in 
three  or  more  forms  only  verbally  distinguishable ; 
and  yet  this  very  luxuriance  and  license  may  be  ex- 
tremely valuable  for  the  somewhat  tongue-tied 
teacher  —  brought  up,  perhaps,  on  the  doctrine  that 
the  meaner  and  cruder  a  sentence  is,  the  better  it  is. 
Above  all,  Swinburne  is  a  master  of  the  anapest, 
a  metrical  foot  singularly  Httle  used  by  our  poets, 
but,  when  used,  rarely  without  strong  effects,  — ■ 
witness  Byron's  Destruction  of  Sennacherib,  or  witness 
the  stanzas  from  Swinburne  himself  descriptive  of  the 
Roman  arena :  — 

"On  sands  by  the  storm  never  shaken, 
Nor  wet  from  the  washing  of  tides ; 


THE  HOUR  OF  APPRECIATION  77 

Nor  by  foam  of  the  waves  overtaken, 
Nor  winds  that  the  thunder  bestrides ; 

But  red  from  the  print  of  thy  paces, 

Made  smooth  for  the  world  and  its  lords, 

Ringed  round  with  the  flame  of  fair  faces, 
And  splendid  with  swords. 

"There  the  gladiator,  pale  for  thy  pleasure, 

Drew  bitter  and  perilous  breath ; 
There  torments  laid  hold  on  the  treasure 

Of  limbs  too  delicious  for  death ; 
When  thy  gardens  were  ht  with  live  torches ; 

When  the  world  was  a  steed  for  thy  rein ; 
When  the  nations  lay  prone  in  thy  porches, 

Our  Lady  of  Pain."  ^ 

There  are  most  of  Swinburne's  faults  here,  —  the 
same  metaphor  repeated  three  if  not  four  times 
(lines  I  to  4),  and  the  passion  for  aUiteration,  often 
resulting  in  the  use  of  obviously  artificial  words 
(treasure,  delicious) ;  and  yet  there  is  a  rush  in  the 
stanzas  that  almost  takes  one's  breath  away,  and  when 
the  whole  poem  is  read  aloud  at  a  sitting,  it  leaves  the 
heart  beating  and  the  brain  afire.  It  is  not  the  mere 
wickedness  of  the  poem  (if,  indeed,  it  is  a  wicked  poem 
and  not  a  passionately  moral  one)  that  is  the  cause  of 
its  astonishingly  exciting  quality;  it  is  rather  the 
sensuous  music  of  its  words  and  rhythms.  Swinburne, 
then,  is  a  good  master  for  those  teachers  who  have 
never  felt  the  power  of  words ;  he  is  probably  a  very 

^  Dolores. 


78  THE   LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

bad  master  for  those  who  have  already  felt  or  over- 
felt  it. 

Rhythm  and  meaning.  —  Rhythm  often  has  a  close 
bearing  on  meaning.  An  example  is  found  in  The 
Slave's  Dream  of  Longfellow,  where  a  sudden  change  is 
made  from  iambic  to  anapaestic :  — 

"And  then  at  furious  speed  he  rode 

Along  the  Niger's  bank, 
His  bridle-reins  were  golden  chains, 

And  with  a  martial  clank, 
At  each  leap  he  could  feel  his  scabbard  of  steel 

Smiting  his  stallion's  flank." 

The  reason  for  the  change  in  the  fifth  line  is,  of  course, 
to  suggest  powerfully  the  galloping  of  the  horse,  which 
needs  a  triple  rhythm  (dactyUc  or  anapsestic)  such  as 
Wagner  employs  in  his  Ride  of  the  Valkyries  music. 
In  the  next  stage  of  the  lesson  in  appreciation  such 
points  as  these  will  be  discussed  by  the  teacher  with 
his  class,  as  will  also  the  onomatopoeic  quaUty  of 
such  words  as  "  clank  "  and  "  smiting,"  but  in  the 
present  stage  of  the  lesson  it  is  the  teacher's  task 
simply  to  recite  the  poem  in  such  a  way  that  it  will 
produce  a  "clear  and  colored"  impression,  so  that 
the  very  maximum  of  effect  may  be  extracted  from 
the  words  he  employs. 

The  function  of  the  pause.  —  Violent  effects,  how- 
ever, would  sometimes  be  out  of  place.  Consider 
the  masterly  Uttle  poem  of  Cowper,  The  Loss  of  the 


THE  HOUR  OF  APPRECIATION  79 

Royal  George.     Here  the  poet  has  dehberately  given 

us  a  hint  in  his  extraordinarily  short  lines.     Why  did 

he  make  them  so  short  ?   Simply  to  suggest  the  solemn 

tolling  of  a  bell.     Such  a  poem  should  be  taken,  on  the 

average,  five  times  as  slowly  as  it  is  commonly  read. 

Great  pauses  should  break  it  up  :  — 

"Toil  for  the  brave! 

The  brave  that  are  no  more  ! 
All  sunk  beneath  the  wave, 
Fast  by  their  native  shore." 

Whether  every  stanza  of  the  poem  should  be  taken 
equally  slowly  may  be  left  to  the  judgment  of  the 
reader.  In  The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,  too,  a  vast 
pause  should  ensue  after  the  agonized  reference  to  the 
"  gleaming  light." 

The  long  pause,  indeed,  is  not  used  so  frequently 
in  teaching  poetry  as  it  should  be.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  effective  devices  known  to  poetical  and  musical 
art  and  should  not  be  shortened  and  thus  weakened. 
Wordsworth  introduces  a  particularly  impressive 
one  in  Lucy  Gray  just  before  the  verses,  — 

"Yet  some  maintain  that  to  this  day 
She  is  a  living  child." 

In  one  of  Hamlet's  sohloquies,  we  find  the  two  words, 

"Yet  I " 

Standing  alone  as  a  single  verse,  "  poised  for  the  four 
whole  rhythm   pulses,"  where    the   purpose  of   the 


8o  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

poet  is  to  suggest  that  the  utter  self-loathing  of  the 
prince  has  almost  choked  the  channels  of  expression,^ 
In  Macbeth  there  is  a  passage  which,  unless  broken 
up  by  pauses  of  quite  abnormal  length,  loses  much  of 
its  supreme  dramatic  quality  :  — 

Macbeth.  My  dearest  love, 

Duncan  comes  here  to-night. 
Lady  Macbeth.  And  when  goes  hence  ? 

Macbeth.     To-morrow as  he  purposes. 

After  the  word  "to-night"  her  eyes  and  his  make  eloquent 
play.  Both  of  their  faces  are  books  where  an  observer  could 
read  strange  matters.  Macbeth  knows  perfectly  well  what  is 
passing  in  his  wife's  mind.  Words  are  almost  superfluous,  and 
when  they  come  they  are  as  few  as  may  be. 

"And  when goes  hence ?" 

Again  comes  the  play  of  the  eyes  through  twenty  seconds,  at 
the  end  of  which  he  falters  out  his  last  pretense  of  not  under- 
standing :  — 

"To-morrow " 

Whereupon  the  mask  of  silence  and  ambiguity,  too  ridiculous 
to  be  kept  up  longer,  drops  from  both.  Macbeth  knows  that 
Duncan  will  never  leave  the  castle  alive,  and  adds,  in  routine 
homage  to  the  brutal  truth :  — 

" as  he  purposes." 

She,  less  hypocritical,  bursts  out  with,  —  ] 

"O  never  shall  sun  that  morrow  see." 
Then,  after  a  jest  at  his  eager,  doubtful  mien,  she  falls  back, 
womanlike,  upon  the  practical  details  of  the  plot  about  which 
not  one  word  has  yet  been  said  by  either  of  them,  either  in  writing 
or  by  word  of  mouth. 

*  Mark  Liddell,  Introduction  to  Poetry. 


THE  HOUR  OF  APPRECIATION  8l 

Of  the  pause  in  music  more  will  be  said  later  on, 
but  it  is  worthy  of  note  that  this  device  is  effective 
even  in  painting !  "A  cumulative  gradation  which 
suddenly  stops  has  the  same  force  in  light  and  shade 
as  a  long  line  which  suddenly  changes  into  a  short  Kne 
of  the  opposite  direction.  They  are  both  equivalent 
to  a  pause  in  music,  awakening  an  attention  at  such 
a  point,  and  only  to  be  employed  where  there  is  some- 
thing important  to  follow."  ^     (Poore.) 

Other  rhetorical  effects.  —  Not  only  should  the 
inherent  qualities  of  words  be  brought  out  by  the 
teacher,  and  not  only  should  rhythms  and  rhetorical 
effects  receive  due  attention,  but  all  of  the  resources 
of  climax  and  anticlimax,  including  crescendos  and 
diminuendos,  should  be  employed.  Macaulay's 
Horatius  seems  admirably  adapted  for  school  use 
because  of  its  powerful  and  obvious  rhetorical  devices. 
The  concluding  stanzas,  with  their  recurrent  "  when  " 
and  their  climax,  are  admirable ;  and  the  single 
stanza  which  describes  the  emergence  of  Horatius 
from  the  water  is  a  hardly  less  impressive  crescendo  :  — ■ 

"  And  now  he  feels  the  bottom, 

Now  on  dry  earth  he  stands, 
Now  round  him  throng  the  fathers 

To  press  his  gory  hands ; 
And  now  with  shouts  and  clapping 

And  noise  of  weeping  loud, 
He  enters  through  the  river-gate 

Borne  by  the  joyous  crowd." 


82  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

There  should  be  rising  inflection  almost  to  the  extent 
of  an  octave  in  reciting  this  stanza,  and  toward  the 
end  the  voice  should  slightly  fall  to  convey  the  im- 
pression of  finality,  —  crossing  a  summit  or  reaching 
a  goal.  The  word  "  enters  "  should  perhaps  rep- 
resent the  highest  voice  pitch  in  the  stanza. 
******* 

But  jam  satis!  It  is  conceivable  that,  in  the  years 
to  come,  the  teacher  will  have  so  well  learned  the  lesson 
conveyed  by  this  chapter  that  the  educationist's 
duty  will  be  to  hold  him  in,  to  tell  him  to  be  less  ex- 
pressive in  his  vivid  and  exciting  renderings  of  poetry. 
That  time  is  not  yet.  For  the  present  he  had  better 
follow  Wagner's  plan  d  propos  of  the  Ninth  Symphony 
and  seek  to  produce  "  as  clear  and  colored  an  im- 
pression "  as  possible. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  FINAL  STAGES 

Dangers  in  "  stages."  —  That  there  are  dangers  in 
laying  much  stress  on  "  stages  "  or  "  steps  "  in  the 
learning  process  can  hardly  be  doubted.  Indeed  the 
real  value  of  the  Herbartian  "  formal  steps  "  has  been 
largely  obscured  by  the  fanatical  rigidity  with  which 
they  have  been  employed  by  some  teachers  who  have 
imagined  that  every  lesson  should  be  forced  into  the 
same  mold,  and  that  omissions  or  modifications 
to  suit  particular  exigencies  should  not  be  permitted. 
Implicitly  it  was  assumed  that  there  was  no  place  for 
tact,  personal  judgment,  native  artistry,  novel  experi- 
ment, and  the  like.     The  scheme  was  made  into  an 

idol. 

The  dangers  of  dividing  the  appreciation  lesson  into 
steps  or  stages  are  at  least  two.  In  the  first  place, 
the  teacher  may  be  so  impressed  by  the  idea  of  a 
temporal  sequence  that  he  will  not  allow  himself 
to  alter  their  order  or  to  blend  two  stages.  In  the 
second  place,  he  may  not  realize  the  extent  to  which 
different  types  of  subject-matter  may  call  for  different 
treatment.    A    poem    like    Browning's    Pied    Piper 

83 


84  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

is  different  in  every  respect  from  Swinburne's  A 
Match;  ^  the  former  contains  a  prosaic  lesson  in  civics, 
and  should  be  treated  from  the  point  of  view  of 
rational  thought,  with  a  flash  or  two  of  humor  thrown 
in  ;  the  latter,  with  its  rich  alliterations  and  circular 
form,  appeals  almost  wholly  to  our  power  of  sensuous 
or  aesthetic  appreciation. 

In  many  respects,  therefore,  it  would  be  preferable  to 
speak,  not  of  "  stages  "  or  "  steps,"  —  for  these  words 
imply  a  fixed  sequence,  —  but  rather  of  "  phases." 
The  teacher  would  then  deal  first  with  whatever 
phase  of  his  topic  called  for  first  treatment,  and  would 
then  pass  to  the  next  most  natural  phase,  always 
adapting  his  procedure  to  the  needs  of  the  occasion. 
Still,  I  think  that  the  stages  proposed  in  these  chapters 
may  correspond  fairly  well  to  the  order  of  pedagogical 
events  commonly  called  for  in  the  lesson  in  apprecia- 
tion. In  any  case,  the  young  teacher  needs  some 
guidance,  and  although  it  is  probable  that  the  stages 
here  proposed  will  need  a  thorough  overhauling  in 
the  light  of  further  experience,  they  may  serve  as  a 
temporary  guide  pending  the  construction  of  a  more 
effective  scheme. 

Stage  five  :    aesthetic    discussion.  —  Provided  that 

the  reader  will  keep  in  mind  these  warnings  against 

a  formal  and  mechanical  application  of  the  principles 

here  laid  down,  he  may  ask,  What  stage  (or  phase) 

'  See  a  stanza  from  this  poem,  pp.  19-20. 


THE  FINAL  STAGES  8$ 

of  the  appreciation  lesson  should  ordinarily  follow 
the  presentation  of  the  poem  to  the  class?  Negative 
preparation,  positive  preparation,  —  of  these  we  took 
care  long  before  the  lesson  itself  was  given ;  immediate 
preparation,  presentation,  —  of  these  we  have  taken 
care  during  the  lesson  itself ;  what  should  come 
now? 

I  believe  that  the  next  step  to  take  is  something 
that  we  may  rather  clumsily  call  "  aesthetic  discussion." 
The  impression  of  the  poem  as  a  whole  is  still  fresh  in 
the  pupils'  minds :  wonderful  words,  rhymes,  and 
rhythms  still  echo  in  their  memories  ;  before  the  echoes 
die  down,  the  teacher  should  therefore  ask,  "  What 
lines,  what  words,  what  phrases,  do  you  like  best?  " 

There  is  here  a  large  opportunity  for  experiment  and 
research  of  a  most  interesting  kind.  Let  the  teacher 
banish  all  chance  of  mutual  suggestion  among  the 
pupils ;  let  him  get  them  to  state  in  writing  the  lines 
or  words  that  have  pleased  them  most ;  let  him  also 
get  them  to  report,  if  they  can,  their  reasons  for  their 
choice  (although  this  demand  should  not  be  made 
too  formal  or  too  exigent,  for  reasons  will  be  hard  to 
give  in  most  cases) ;  let  him  then  collect  the  results 
and  proceed  with  the  lesson.  Of  course,  if  he  is  not 
experimenting  but  simply  teaching,  he  need  not  ask 
the  class  to  write  down  their  preferences ;  he  may 
simply  ask  for  them  orally  in  the  mass.  But  if  he 
cares  to  take  the  former  course,  he  may  be  assured 


86  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

that   there  is  here  an   ahnost  uncharted   region  of 
educational  investigation. 

It  may  be  advisable  for  the  teacher  first  to  experiment  on 
his  adult  friends  before  trying  the  children.  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that,  while  the  more  subtle  and  fK)\verful  metaphors 
will  remain  unappreciated  by  children  because  of  their  lack 
of  the  experience  which  alone  can  give  meaning  to  the  meta- 
phors, the  situation  will  be  quite  different  in  matters  of  rhythm, 
rhyme,  alliteration,  and  other  sensuous  factors.  Here  the 
tastes  of  the  child  may  be  found  to  approximate  closely  to 
those  of  the  unspoiled  adult.  I  once  asked  a  class  of  girls  from 
rather  poor  homes  whether  they  liked  the  word  "Armada." 
At  first,  of  course,  they  did  not  understand  the  drift  of  the 
question,  but  after  I  had  thoroughly  and  deliberately  paralyzed 
all  of  their  tendencies  to  "docility"  (and  this  is  particularly 
necessary  with  girls,  who  will  greedily  take  a  "cue"  from  the 
teacher  or  from  some  one  of  their  companions),  I  asked  the 
question  again,  and  found  that  they  did  like  the  word.  I 
followed  this  up  with  "Barcelona"  and  other  words  appearing 
in  the  poem,  and  the  class  finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
Spanish  words  were  uncommonly  pleasing  and  melodic.  I 
think  adults  would  have  come  to  the  same  conclusion.  If 
Sir  Henry  Wotton's  famous  hymn,  — 

"How  happy  is  he  born  and  taught 
That  seeketh  not  another's  will.  ..." 

were  read  to  a  group  of  adults  and  then  to  a  class  of  children, 

which  line  would  be  preferred?    With  the  adults,  the  answer 

is,— 

"Lord  of  himself  though  not  of  lands" ; 

and  I  suspect  that  the  children  would  again  agree  with  this 
choice.     The  alliterated  /  settles   the  matter,  though  most  of 


THE  FINAL  STAGES  87 

us  may  not  realize  that  alliteration  is  present  at  all.  The 
charm  and  quotability  of  the  closing  lines  of  Ophelia's  speech 
to  Laertes  are,  no  doubt,  due  to  the  same  factor :  — 

"Himself  the  primrose  path  of  dalliance  treads 
And  recks  not  his  own  rede." 

Of  course  there  will  be  dislikes  as  well  as  likes.  Many  of 
Browning's  rhymes,  as  we  have  seen,  are  shockingly  poor.  In 
Webster's  Duchess  of  Malfi  occurs  the  passage,  — 

"Naught  made  me  e'er  go  right  but  Heaven's  scourge  stick," 

where  the  sibilants  of  the  last  three  words  are  awkward  to  utter, 
and  such  awkwardness,  being  "distracting,"  tends  to  destroy 
appreciation.  I  am  not  suggesting  that  either  The  Gram- 
tnarian's  Funeral  or  the  Duchess  of  Malfi  should  be  used  in 
school,  nor  that  poems  with  similar  defects  should  not  be  used. 
I  am  simply  urging  the  importance  of  noting,  recording,  and 
discussing  with  the  pupils  their  dislikes  as  well  as  their  likes, 
their  prejudices  as  well  as  their  appreciations. 

The  induction  of  esthetic  principles.  —  At  first 
these  Hkes  and  disHkes  should  be  merely  collected 
and  recorded  by  the  teacher ;  it  would  be  a  mistake 
to  infer  or  expound  aesthetic  principles  from  a  very 
few  cases.  But  after  a  while  the  inferences  would 
begin  to  clamor  for  recognition.  "  Armada,"  "  Bar- 
celona," for  example,  are  rich  in  long  vowels  and  in 
liquid  and  nasal  sounds ;  "  Lord  of  himself  though 
not  of  lands  "  has  a  trace  of  alHteration ;  thus  by  a 
process  of  quite  genuine  induction,  —  far  more  genuine 
than  much  of  the  "  reasoning  "  that  we  try  to  stim- 
ulate in  connection    with   grammar    and  arithmetic, 


88  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

—  the  class  will  arrive  at  certain  aesthetic  principles, 
and  particularly  at  the  all-important  principle  of 
repetition. 

But  beauty  is  a  dehcate  and  puzzling  thing,  and 
sometimes  it  arises  from  the  operation  of  factors 
quite  the  opposite  of  repetition.  Why  does  Kipling 
call  one  of  his  books,  not  Three  Soldiers,  but  Soldiers 
Three  ?  Why  does  John  Bunyan  tell  us,  not  about 
the  Beautiful  House,  but  about  the  House  Beautiful? 
It  is  not  a  rhythmic  nor  an  alliterative  principle 
that  is  at  work  here,  for,  curiously,  the  rhythm  of 
''  three  soldiers  "  is  near  to  that  of  "  house  beautiful  " 
and  that  of  "  soldiers  three  "  to  that  of  "  beautiful 
house."  It  is  just  the  reversal  of  the  usual  order  of 
words  that  gives  to  our  minds  a  pleasant  shock,  a 
tiny  thrill  of  romance,  akin,  perhaps,  to  the  effect 
provided  by  the  unexpected  short  line  in  Swin- 
burne's Dolores}  The  teacher  may  very  well  ask  the 
class  which  form  of  words  they  prefer ;  and  though 
they  may  be  unable  to  infer  that  unfamiliarity  is 
sometimes  pleasant,  they  will  at  least  have  had  their 
minds  opened  to  problems  and  subtleties  of  art  which 
usually  escape  notice.  Other  means  of  presenting 
"  problematic  situations  "  (almost  always  an  effective 
means  of  arousing  attention  and  insuring  intellectual 
interest)  will  be  readily  devised  by  the  resourceful 
teacher. 

1  Above,  p.  77. 


THE  FINAL   STAGES  89 

For  example :  Tell  the  class  that  a  young  woman  in  great 
trouble  once  uttered  these  words :  — 

"Is  there sitting  in  the  clouds 

That  sees  into  the  bottom  of  my  grief  ?  " 

The  blanJk  space  may  be  filled  up  in  one  or  another  of  three 
ways,  —  by  the  word  "compassion";  by  the  words  "no 
mercy"  ;  or  by  the  words  "no  pity."  Which  way  is  the  most 
effective?  It  should  be  noted  that  in  problems  or  experi- 
ments of  this  type  the  reading  that  comes  first  has  a  slight 
advantage  for  reasons  that  will  be  fairly  obvious  from  the  pre- 
ceding discussion.  I  have  experimented  with  this  problem 
only  on  so  small  a  scale  that  I  have  obtained  no  verdict  worth 
recording  either  for  or  against  Shakespeare's  form  of  Juliet's 
words ;  but  it  is  probable  that  a  definite  verdict  would  be  forth- 
coming if  we  tried  a  sufficient  number  of  cases.  Obviously 
"compassion"  is  better  than  "mercy"  so  far  as  meaning  is 
concerned,  for  "mercy"  implies  that  an  offense  has  been  com- 
mitted. But  the  word  "pity"  is  better  even  than  "compas- 
sion," and  its  assonance  with  the  word  "sitting"  is  also  in  its 
favor. 

Another  example  may  be  instanced  with  reference  to  meta- 
phors —  and  metaphors,  of  course,  represent  a  higher  type  of 
aesthetic  device  than  the  almost  wholly  verbal  ones  hitherto 
considered  in  this  chapter.  As  an  experiment,  I  wrote  on  the 
blackboard  the  "rack"  passage  from  King  Lear,  and,  side  by 
side  with  it,  the  following  modified  form :  — 

"O  let  him  pass ;   he  hates  him. 
That  would  amid  the  griefs  of  this  sad  world 
Delay  him  longer." 

I  found  that,  in  general,  both  children  and  youths,  when 
tested  on  these  two  passages,  preferred  Hayward  to  Shake- 
speare.   Hayward  was  prosy,  obvious,  commonplace;   Shake- 


QO  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

speare  introduced  the  jarring  and  unfamiliar  word  "rack." 
As  one  girl  quite  naively  said,  "There  are  more  harsh  words 
in  the  other  [Shakespearean]  piece."  I  venture  to  say  that  a 
little  experiment  like  this  will  introduce  a  class  to  the  very 
heart  of  aesthetic  criticism,  for  "harshness,"  of  a  sort,  is  the 
very  thing  the  poet  meant  to  produce. 

After  an  analysis  of  the  kind  I  have  indicated  the 
teacher  v^ill  do  well  to  read  or  recite  the  whole  passage 
again.  The  discussion  he  has  had  with  the  class  will 
bring  into  existence  a  new  kind  of  interest ;  the  allit- 
eration and  the  assonance  v/ill  now  be  consciously 
noticed,  the  appositeness  of  the  metaphors  will  be 
better  appreciated,  and  so  on.  We  are  still  on  the 
plane  of  aesthetic  appreciation,  but  the  appreciation 
is  more  discerning,  intelligent,  and  detailed. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  FINAL  VIEW  OF  THE  LESSON 

The  sixth  and  last  stage  that  now  follows  will  be 
a  comparatively  easy  one  for  most  teachers.  They 
can  cease  to  be  anxious  about  "  appreciation  "  in  the 
narrower  sense.  Indeed,  the  opportunity  for  it  is 
over.  The  child  has  either  been  impressed  or  has 
failed  to  be  impressed  by  the  poem.  The  fire  from 
heaven  has  descended  —  or  it  has  not ;  and,  in  the 
latter  case,  it  will  be  useless  for  the  disappointed 
ministrants  to  leap  upon  the  cold  altar  and  gash 
themselves  with  knives. 

Stage  six :  intellectual  discussion  or  the  exposition 
of  meaning.  —  But  if  a  certain  measure  of  success 
has  attended,  so  far,  the  lesson  in  appreciation,  some- 
thing very  important  and  indeed  very  lengthy,  in 
many  cases,  remains  to  be  done,  and  although  that 
something  does  not  fall  under  the  category  of  appre- 
ciation, in  the  aesthetic  sense,  it  is  closely  related  to 
appreciation.  The  teacher  must  now  begin  his  analysis 
or  exposition  of  the  meaning  of  this  or  that  phrase, 
and — what  is  still  more  important  —  his  analysis  or 
exposition  of  the  meaning  of  the  poem  as  a  whole. 

91 


92  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

He  is  here  on  familiar  ground,  —  the  familiar  and 
prosy  ground  of  intellect,  not  the  mystery-haunted 
realm  of  feeling.  Let  him  go  his  way  boldly.  His 
usual  methods  will  be,  for  the  most  part,  sound  enough 
now.  Hjs  mistake  has  hitherto  been  to  introduce 
these  methods,  not  at  the  end,  but  at  the  beginning 
of  his  lessons  in  appreciation.  The  pupils  have  been 
given  no  time  to  savor  the  poetry  presented  to  them. 
The  teacher,  in  fact,  has  been  far  too  intellectual, 
far  too  analytical,  far  too  fond  of  detail.  But  now 
is  his  hour.  He  has  done  his  best  to  insure  the  ap- 
preciation of  a  thing  of  beauty  ;  now  he  can  analyze, 
explain,  interrogate,  interpret  to  his  heart's  content. 

Almost  everything  that  has  been  said  regarding 
the  earlier  stages  of  the  appreciation  lesson  must  be 
reversed  or  at  least  revised  when  applied  to  the  in- 
tellectual side  of  the  task.^  For  example,  distractions 
which  are  fatal  to  appreciation  may  be  stimulants  to 
concentrated  thought ;  psychology  has  proved  that 
we  think  better  if  there  is  a  little  noise  in  a  room  than 
if  we  are  surrounded  by  an  absolutely  dead  silence. 
Again,  the  presence  of  a  "  problematic  situation," 
while  not  conducive  to  appreciation,  is  the  very  life 

1  In  a  later  discussion  of  pictorial  appreciation,  the  intellectual 
aspects  will  be  emphasized.  But  that  is  because  pure  aesthetic  appre- 
ciation is  much  harder  to  obtain  in  this  case  than  in  the  case  of 
poetry  and  music.  The  sensuous  beauty  of  sounds  appeals  more  to 
children  than  the  sensuous  beauty  of  form  and  color.  This,  at  least, 
is  my  belief. 


THE  FINAL  VIEW  OF  THE   LESSON  93 

and  soul  of  the  lessons  that  have  an  intellectual  bear- 
ing. Poetry  would  not  be  a  suitable  medium  for 
detective  stories,  and  many  of  our  other  lessons  should 
certainly  be  detective  lessons,  or,  to  use  the  orthodox 
term,  "  heuristic  "  lessons.  In  them  the  teacher  can 
be,  if  he  likes,  vernacular,  sleuth-like,  incalculable, 
inscrutable,  tantalizing;  he  may,  if  he  choose,  use 
that  favorite  formula  of  his  condemned  in  a  previous 

connection,   What  is  the  meaning  of  ?     But  in 

dealing  with  poetry  and  music,  if  he  cannot  keep 
problems  out  he  must  at  least  take  care  that  they 
do  not  spoil  the  purely  appreciative  stage  of  the  lesson. 
He  may,  perhaps,  store  them  up  for  another  time, 
or  for  the  end  of  the  lesson  when,  shot  at  the  class, 
they  may  give  quite  a  new  interest  to  the  passage 
that  has  been  studied.  There  are  exceptions  to  this 
rule,  no  doubt ;  in  the  study  of  a  drama  it  is  often 
good  to  state  problems  quite  early ;  but  the  nearer 
the  lesson  approaches  to  a  pure  appreciation  lesson, 
the  more  the  teacher  should  keep  problems,  for  a  long 
time,  out  of  sight.  The  time  for  them  is  here  at  the 
close  of  the  lesson,  —  in  what  we  may  call  Stage  Six, 
or  the  stage  of  intellectual  discussion.  This  stage  will 
not  be  sharply  differentiated  from  the  preceding  one, 
that  of  (Esthetic  discussion,  but  it  is  well  to  recognize 
that  there  is  a  difference  between  them. 

Reading  by  pupils.  —  Some  points  remain.     "  Are 
the  pupils,"  some  one  will  ask,  "  never  to  be  called 


94  THE   LESSON  IN   APPREaATION 

upon  themselves  to  read  the  piece  aloud,  or  to  sing  the 
song  ?  Is  the  reading  or  the  singing  to  come  from  the 
teacher  alone?  "  The  reply  is  that  the  teacher  should 
be  rather  more  cautious  than  he  has  usually  been 
about  permitting  this  kind  of  thing  in  the  earlier 
stages  of  the  lesson,  or  before  the  pupils  have  acquired 
a  distinct  liking  for  the  piece,  —  and  certainly  the 
finer  the  literature,  the  more  cautious  he  should  be. 
We  do  not  want  a  fine  impression  to  be  spoiled.  Better, 
on  the  whole,  that  the  pupils  should  hear  the  piece 
again  from  the  teacher  in  a  week's  time  and  hear 
it  yet  again  from  him  in  another  week's  time  than 
that  they  should  hear  it  from  another  pupil's  stumbling 
lips.  If  the  material  is  of  inferior  quality  there  is 
little  need  to  be  so  fastidious,  but  if  it  is  a  front  rank 
piece  one  cannot  be  too  careful  with  its  presentation. 
And  there  is  no  doubt  that  when  pupils  are  to  be 
called  upon  to  read  an  immortally  great  passage,  a 
choice  of  pupil  should  be  made,  and  he  who  can  do  the 
passage  the  greatest  measure  of  justice  should  be  the 
one  first  chosen.  Furthermore,  he  should  be  fore- 
warned of  the  honor  that  will  devolve  upon  him,  and 
preparation  of  a  special  sort  should  be  expected.  If  we 
adults  need  preparation  before  we  can  do  justice  to  a 
poem,  how  much  more  does  the  child  need  such  prepa- 
ration ! 

Learning  by  heart.  —  "  How  far,"  it  may  be  asked, 
"  should  we  expect  children  to  learn  by  heart  the 


THE   FINAL   VIEW   OF  THE  LESSON  95 

poems  to  which  they  have  been  introduced  through 
the  appreciation  lesson?"  One  thing  is  certain. 
The  old-fashioned  prescription  of  the  English  Board 
of  Education  requiring  the  learning  of  a  hundred  or 
two  hundred  lines  by  an  entire  class  is  open  to  many 
objections.  The  rapid  learners  were  wearied  by  the 
endless  repetitions  made  necessary  through  the  slow- 
ness of  their  companions,  and  the  necessity  that  the 
knowledge  of  the  piece  should  be  word-perfect  prac- 
tically meant  that  no  poems  were  taught  from  the 
standpoint  of  appreciation  pure  and  simple.  The 
whole  atmosphere  was  ''examinational,"  not  aesthetic. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  teacher  should  not,  in  re- 
action from  the  examinational  standpoint,  rest  con- 
tent with  making  the  lesson  in  appreciation  one  of 
"  chalk  and  talk  "  only,  —  one  from  which  no  def- 
inite result  on  the  pupil's  part  is  assumed.  Every 
child  may  fairly  be  expected  to  learn  (Stage  Seven) 
a  certain  number  of  lines,  self-chosen,  or  sometimes, 
perhaps,  chosen  by  the  teacher  or  with  his  advice. 
In  some  cases  a  pupil  will  willingly  learn  hundreds 
or  even  thousands  of  lines ;  in  others  a  single  line  or 
a  short  passage  must  suffice. 

It  will  be  an  interesting  question  whether  the  pupils  will 
voluntarily  select  the  passages  that  they  have  heard  from  the 
teacher,  or  whether  they  will  choose  new  pieces  for  themselves. 
If  the  arguments  of  the  present  book  are  valid,  the  former 
ought  generally  to  be  the  case ;  yet  I  have  no  doubt  that  some- 


96  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

times  an  entirely  novel  piece  (provided  that  the  technical 
difliculties  of  reading  are  not  too  great)  will  strike  the  fancy 
of  the  child.  Such  an  instance  may  be  full  of  instruction  to 
the  teacher.  He  will  infer  his  own  failure  of  judgment  in 
selecting  pieces  for  appreciation ;  he  will  wish  to  know  why  he 
has  failed  in  the  presentation  of  them ;  he  will  wonder  whether 
he  has  produced  tedium  by  excess  of  repetitions.  .  .  . 

Reference  to  the  printed  book.  —  There  is  no  reason 
whatever  why  the  child  in  repeating  a  piece  should 
be  deprived  wholly  of  the  printed  book.  The  principle 
here,  of  course,  is  quite  different  from  that  of  the  "first 
impression  "  discussed  in  a  preceding  chapter.  Dep- 
rivation of  the  book  means  an  increase  of  nervous- 
ness and  timidity,  —  a  fatal  thing  both  for  apprecia- 
tion and  for  committing  to  memory,  —  and  it  may 
mean,  too,  the  establishment  of  a  number  of  false 
associations  that  will  be  difficult  to  unlearn. 

This  last  point  needs  some  elucidation  in  view  of  recent 
investigations  in  the  field  of  memory.  If,  as  experimental 
psychologists  have  shown,  a  poem  can  be  learned  most  ex- 
peditiously when  learned  as  a  whole,  not  in  fragments,  the 
policy  of  prescribing  one  verse  for  one  week  and  another  for 
the  next  is  wholly  wasteful.  The  reasons  for  this  are  two. 
First,  there  is  the  lessened  interest  in  learning  a  fragment,  the 
lessened  ability  to  work  up  contrasts,  climaxes  and  so  on  ;  in  fact, 
the  lower  temperature  of  the  whole  process.  Secondly,  there 
are  mechanical  or  quantitative  reasons.  When  we  read  a  piece 
through  consecutively,  we  establish  the  right  associations  be- 
tween every  word  and  the  word  that  follows ;  for  example, 
the  last  word  of  the  first  stanza  is  linked  to  the  first  word  of 


THE  FINAL  VIEW   OF  THE  LESSON  97 

the  second  stanza,  just  as  it  should  be.  If,  however,  we  learn 
each  stanza  in  separation  from  others,  we  fail  to  establish  any 
Unks  between  the  individual  stanzas ;  these  links  have  sub- 
sequently to  be  forged  by  special  practice,  —  a  wasteful  pro- 
cess. Nay,  as  the  first  stanza  is  followed  by  a  repetition  of 
itself  a  number  of  times,  an  erroneous  association  is  established 
between  its  last  word  and  its  first,  instead  of  with  the  first  word 
of  the  following  stanza.  It  is  obvious,  therefore,  that  a  poem 
of  reasonable  length  should  be  learned  as  a  whole. 

Now  let  us  consider  the  practice  of  depriving  the  pupil  of 
his  book  before  he  is  quite  sure  of  the  poem.  He  comes  to  a 
halt  at  a  certain  point.  Our  aim  should  be  to  prevent  such 
halts ;  to  make  his  ideas  and  words  flow  unbrokenly.  But  if 
he  has  no  book  to  which  to  refer,  his  halt  becomes  long  and 
embarrassing.  He  loses  contact  with  the  lines  that  he  has 
just  uttered.  He  repeats  some  of  the  words  in  a  vain  attempt 
to  regain  the  lost  thread.  A  tide  of  emotion  and  anxiety  surges 
into  his  mind. 

This  is  not  the  way  either  to  obtain  enjoyment  from  recita- 
tion or  to  obtain  fluency  in  the  process.  It  is  a  good  rule  for 
the  teacher,  therefore,  to  allow  as  few  disturbances  of  the 
associational  process  as  possible.  He  should  not  ask  pupils 
to  recite  from  memory  until  the  associations  are  pretty  firmly 
estabUshed,  and  even  when  they  are  pretty  firmly  established 
he  should  allow  books  to  be  close  at  hand  to  supply  confidence 
and  minimize  the  periods  of  halt. 

Summary.  —  I  have  now  brought  to  an  end  my 
outline  scheme  of  a  lesson  in  poetical  appreciation. 
The  word  "  lesson  "  as  here  used  will  sometimes 
mean  a  lesson  in  the  strictest  and  narrowest  sense,  — 
a  thirty  or  forty  minute  period  filled  with  systematic 


98  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

pedagogical  activity  proceeding  from  a  definite  start 
to  a  definite  finish.  In  many  cases,  however,  the 
lesson  will  be  distributed  over  a  number  of  periods 
perhaps  widely  separated  from  each  other ;  reproduc- 
tion, in  particular,  —  learning  by  heart,  —  will  require 
time  in  abundance. 

With  this  proviso,  the  "  lesson  in  appreciation  " 
itself  may  be  said  to  consist  of  five  stages  —  or  four  if 
(mistakenly,  I  think)  we  regard  (5)  and  (6)  as  one  — 
which  themselves  are  often  to  be  preceded  by  two 
other  vastly  important  stages  of  a  preparatory  nature. 
The  scheme  of  such  a  lesson  will,  therefore,  be  some- 
what as  follows  and  it  will  be  seen  to  resemble  closely 
the  five  steps  set  out  in  Chapter  V. 

Stages  or  phases  preliminary  to  the  lesson  proper:  — 

(i)  Negative  preparation. 

(2)  Positive  preparation. 

The  lesson  proper  :  — 

(3)  Immediate  preparation. 

(4)  Presentation. 

(5)  Discussion  (aesthetic),  followed  by  Re-presentation. 

(6)  Discussion  (factual  or  intellectual),  followed  by  Re- 
presentation. 

(7)  Reproduction  (learning  by  heart). 


CHAPTER  IX 

POSSIBILITIES 

The  biographical  element  in  appreciation.  —  Brief 
mention  was  made  in  a  preceding  chapter  of  the 
possibility  of  awakening  interest  in  literature  by  means 
of  biography.  The  American  child  who  knows  the 
story  of  the  composition  of  The  Star  Spangled  Banner 
feels  an  added  interest  in  the  poem  or  song  itself.  Dur- 
ing the  Napoleonic  war,  Campbell  was  arrested  as  a 
"  traitor  "  and,  when  brought  before  the  court,  handed 
a  manuscript  poem  to  the  magistrate  and  was  immedi- 
ately declared  to  be  "  not  a  traitor  "  on  the  strength  of 
that  stirring  piece.  The  English  child  who  is  familiar 
with  these  facts  will  feel  an  added  interest  in  Ye 
Mariners  of  England.  Most  people,  American  or 
English,  would  the  more  keenly  appreciate  the  Fifty- 
first  Psalm  if  they  knew  that  it  was  the  consolation 
of  both  Sir  Thomas  More  and  Lady  Jane  Grey  on  the 
scaffold ;  that  Savonarola,  after  being  tortured,  wrote 
a  meditation  on  it  with  his  one  available  arm ;  that 
Saint  Teresa  died  repeating  the  tenth,  eleventh, 
and  seventeenth  verses,  and  Arnold  of  Rugby  re- 
peating the  twelfth  verse.     Even  the  fact  that  the 

99 


TOO  THE   LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

first  verse  was  the  "  neck  verse  "  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
which,  if  successfully  read  by  a  criminal,  showed  him 
to  be  a  "  clerk  "  and  gave  him  the  "  benefit  of  clergy," 
adds  interest  to  the  psalm. 

Such  an  interest,  being  "  added,"  is  not  purely 
aesthetic,  and  the  question  arises  whether  aesthetic 
interest  is  the  teacher's  only  concern.  The  question 
thus  put  seems  almost  too  absurd  to  require  an  answer, 
but  in  point  of  fact  there  are  people  who  regard  the 
purely  artistic  side  of  things  as  the  only  one  of  real 
inportance.  Whether  Campbell  was  really  a  "  traitor  " 
or  not  matters  very  little  to  them  ;  they  are  concerned 
only  with  the  form  and  style  of  his  poem.  They  are, 
in  short,  the  advocates  of  "art  for  art's  sake"  to  whom 
reference  was  made  in  Chapter  III.  The  poet's 
(painter's,  musician's)  only  business  —  in  their  judg- 
ment —  is  to  produce  beautiful  things ;  and  our  busi- 
ness—  in  their  judgment,  apparently  —  is  to  admire 
beauty  and  ignore  everything  else. 

Art  for  art's  sake?  —  Long  has  been  the  battle 
between  the  advocates  of  this  doctrine  and  those 
other  controversialists  who  consider  that  art  should 
stand,  not  in  isolation  from  the  rest  of  life,  but  in 
a  most  intimate  and  moral  relation  to  it.  Among 
the  most  emphatic  proponents  of  the  latter  view  may 
be  mentioned,  besides  Wagner  in  the  realm  of  music, 
Watts  in  the  realm  of  painting,  and  Ruskin  and  Shaw 
in  the  realm  of  criticism.     These  men  are  "  didactic  " 


POSSIBILITIES  lOI 

artists ;  they  preach  and  teach.  "  For  '  art's  sake  ' 
alone,"  says  Shaw,  "  I  would  not  face  the  toil  of 
writing  a  single  sentence."  The  proponents  of  the 
former  view  are  found  in  the  greatest  number  in 
France;  in  England,  Oscar  Wilde  gave  expression 
to  it,  and,  incidentally,  to  various  sneers  at  the  ex- 
pense of  "  morality."  ^ 

There  are,  however,  two  elements  of  truth  in  the 
"  art  for  art's  sake  "  notion.  Every  human  task, 
to  be  achieved  successfully,  demands  a  certain  amount 
of  specialization  and  concentration.  We  have  to 
turn  aside  temporarily  from  the  other  things.  It  is 
so  with  discovery ;  it  is  so  with  invention ;  it  is  so 
with  art.  If  the  scientific  discoverer  were  compelled 
at  every  moment  to  think  about  other  things  than 
science  and  discovery  he  would  be  so  paralyzed  in 
his  efforts  that  he  would  discover  little  or  nothing. 
So,  too,  if  the  artist  were  compelled  to  consider  at 
every  moment  the  purely  moral  or  political  aspects 
of  his  work,  he  would  probably  become  an  ineffective 
artist  without  becoming  a  useful  moralist  or  politician. 
In  all  affairs  of  hfe  we  must,  to  some  extent,  "  stoop 
to  conquer  "  ;  we  must  do  one  thing  at  a  time  and 
temporarily  ignore  many  other  things  in  doing  the  one. 

iThat  France  has  begun  to  learn  the  folly  of  the  "art  for  art's 
sake"  notion  is  shown  by  various  signs,  —  among  others,  by  the 
article  of  M.  Cousinet  from  which  I  have  so  copiously  borrowed,  and 
by  the  wide  popularity  of  such  a  book  as  RoUand's  Jean  Christophe. 


I02  THE   LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

And  as  with  methods,  so  with  results.  The  other 
element  of  truth  in  the  "  art  for  art's  sake  "  notion 
is  that  bad  art  is  not  saved  from  its  badness  by  con- 
sideration of  its  moral,  poHtical,  or  other  excellences. 
If  a  picture  is  badly  designed  or  badly  colored  we 
have  no  right  to  call  it  a  good  picture,  although  it 
may  possess  important  non-artistic  merits.  The 
advocates  of  "  art  for  art's  sake  "  have  thus  done 
good  service  in  making  our  notions  of  merit  precise. 

But  on  the  whole  their  influence  has  been  per- 
nicious. Just  as  the  vivisector  has  justified  his 
tortures  on  the  ground  that  knowledge  is  an  end  in 
itself,  the  artists  of  this  school  have  justified  frivolous, 
meaningless,  or  positively  debasing  products  of  their 
activity  on  the  ground  that  art  is  independent  of  the 
rest  of  life,  and  has  no  call  to  consider  anything  but  its 
own  interests  and  supposed  principles.  And  Nemesis 
has  followed !  Art  in  France,  as  M.  Cousinet  points 
out,  has,  while  becoming  subtler,  become  feebler  and 
more  bloodless,  become  more  and  more  remote  from 
the  common  man,  and  become  the  property  and  play- 
thing of  a  coterie  of  ineffective  aesthetes.  Having 
nothing  to  say  to  men,  it  loses  the  power  to  say  it. 

Whatever  may  be  the  right  and  wrong  of  "  art 
for  art's  sake  "  from  the  standpoint  of  the  artist, 
there  ought  to  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  attitude  which 
the  educationist  should  adopt.  His  concern  is  em- 
phatically life  as  a  whole,  not  merely  the  ideals  of  the 


POSSIBILITIES  103 

specialist  in  art  or  science  or  business.  He  must 
teach  the  appreciation  of  beauty  but  also  that  of 
goodness;  he  must  think  of  the  pupils'  leisure,  but 
also  of  the  pupils'  livelihood  in  the  widest  sense. 
Narrow  dogmas  such  as  the  one  just  discussed  are 
therefore,  for  him,  heresies  of  a  most  damnable  kind. 
The  advantage  of  multiplying  significances.  — 
The  above  remarks  have  been  made  because,  in  urging 
that  the  teacher  should  tell  his  pupils  something  about 
the  lives  of  artists,  I  have  departed  from  the  purely 
aesthetic  side  of  appreciation.  The  advocate  of 
I  "art  for  art's  sake"  will  tell  us  —  has  repeatedly 
'told  us  —  that  the  artist's  life  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  artist's  work.  The  educationist  can  hold  no  such 
view.  Everything  for  him  is  significant,  though 
significant  in  varying  degrees;  and  if  the  life  of  an 
artist  is  full  of  personal  or  social  interest,  that  in  itself 
is  a  reason  why  his  works  should  be  studied.  Two 
significances  are  better  than  one,  and  three  than  two ; 
the  "  grouping  of  ideas  "  together,  the  "  reenforcing 
of  admiration  with  a  crowd  of  intellectual  elements 
(interpretations,  memories,  comparisons),"  which  M. 
Cousinet  regards  as  important  in  the  training  of 
appreciation,  extends  even  to  the  manipulation  of 
biographical  facts.  When  we  hear  a  great  poet 
giving  utterance,  in  immortal  words,  to  the  hope  that 
he  will 

"  Fit  audience  find,  though  few," 


I04  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

we  may  dwell  aesthetically  upon  the  alliterative  beauty 
of  the  line,  but  if  we  cannot  summon  up  in  all  its 
vividness  the  image  of  the  blind  and  disappointed 
Milton,  we  miss  far  more  than  we  receive.  And  if, 
in  hearing  the  first  movement  of  the  Fifth  Symphony, 
we  obtain,  from  the  three  quavers  followed  by  a  minim, 


g 


±^ 


E5l=i5: 


f4 


merely  a  sense  of  something  impetuous,  and  do  not 
hear  the  hammer-strokes  of  Fate  knocking  at  Bee- 
thoven's door  and  saying,  "  You  shall  suffer  —  suffer 
—  suffer,  —  you  shall  be  deaf  as  a  stone,  —  you  shall 
never  know  domestic  joys,  —  you  shall  be  pursued  by 
Me  even  to  the  portals  of  the  grave,"  —  if  we  hear 
nothing  of  this,  and  our  appreciation  of  the  symphony 
is  merely  the  appreciation  of  its  musical  make-up,  we 
miss  much  that  it  is  a  thousand  pities  to  miss. 

Works  of  art  differ  very  much  in  this  respect.  In 
the  case  of  some,  the  biographical  element  is  wholly 
negligible  ;  mere  beauty  of  line,  color,  phrase,  or  tone 
is  their  only  —  and  perhaps  their  sufficient  —  claim 
to  our  admiration.  But  the  educationist  should 
rejoice  whenever,  accompanying  the  beauty,  there  is 
a  wider  significance  too. 

Proportion  in  dealing  with  biographical  materials.  — 
But   the   manipulation   of   biographical   materials  is 


POSSIBILITIES  lOS 

not  always  successfully  achieved  by  the  teacher. 
Too  often  he  thinks  that  if  he  narrates  an  adequate 
number  of  biographical  episodes  in  the  order  of  their 
occurrence,  a  biography  will  result.  Experience 
shows,  however,  that  such  details  are  almost  wholly 
forgotten  within  a  few  days  of  their  being  presented, 
so  slight  is  the  impression  they  produce.  Whether 
Milton  was  "  born  at  London  "  or  "  bom  at  Sowerby, 
Lincolnshire  "  ;  whether  Tennyson  was  educated  at 
"  Christ's  College,  Cambridge  "  or  at  "  St.  Paul's 
School,  London,"  really  matters  very  little,  and  the 
child,  apparently,  feels  that  it  matters  very  Httle  and 
forgets  such  things  as  soon  as  possible  or  confuses  one 
biography  with  another. 

What  is  important  is  that  the  teacher  should  go  to 
the  very  heart  of  a  poet's  or  a  musician's  life.  A  few 
examples  will  show  what  I  mean. 

Concrete  illustrations:  Milton,  Dante,  Cervantes. 
—  Milton's  life  consisted  of  four  tragedies :  First, 
the  postponement,  at  the  call  of  political  duty,  of 
his  early  ambition  to  write  a  great  poetical  work  such 
"  as  men  should  not  wiUingly  let  die."  Second,  his 
marriage  into  a  Cavalier  family  and  his  temporary 
desertion  by  his  wife.  (Fortunately  this  tragedy 
turned  out  less  tragic  than  seemed  probable  at  first, 
but  it  left  permanent  traces  in  the  Adam  and  Eve 
parts  of  Paradise  Lost.)  Third,  his  blindness. 
Fourth,  —  the  worst  tragedy  of  all,  —  the  failure  of 


lo6  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

republicanism  in  1660.  Against  the  Restoration  of 
the  King  he  fought  almost  frantically;  to  the  last 
after  the  Restoration  it  is  a  wonder  that  he  escaped 
the  gallows,  and  no  wonder  that  he  lived  in  discontent 
and  gloom  or  that  he  consoled  himself  by  writing 
Samson  Agonistes. 

Here,  in  about  a  hundred  words,  has  been  expressed 
everything  that  is  really  of  biographical  moment  in 
Milton's  Hfe.  No  mention  is  made  of  his  ''  education 
at  Christ's  College,  Cambridge,"  or  of  his  being  called 
the  "boy  bachelor"  or  the  "lady  of  Christ's"; 
for  these  things  are  not  vital. 

The  life  of  Dante  can  be  treated  in  much  the  same 
way.  He  loves  and  admires  Beatrice,  but  she  marries 
some  one  else ;  first  blow.  He  continues  to  worship 
her  from  afar;  she  dies;  second  blow.  He  will  im- 
mortalize her ;  but  meanwhile  he  throws  himself  into 
Florentine  affairs,  fights  in  the  army  of  the  city, 
becomes  a  magistrate,  and  seeks  to  check  the  faction 
struggles  by  banishing  the  heads  of  the  two  parties ;  is 
himself  banished  under  pain  of  death  ;  third  blow.  An 
exile  now,  brooding  over  the  disunited  condition  of 
Italy,  he  dreams  of  the  rule  of  the  Holy  Roman 
Emperor  becoming  a  reality ;  his  dream  seems  near 
realization  ;  the  Emperor  Henry  VII  dies ;  fourth  and 
last  blow.  Fame  at  last  comes  to  him  on  the  pubHca- 
tion  of  his  Divine  Comedy. 

And  the  life  of  Cervantes  similarly.     One  ambition 


POSSIBILITIES  107 

after  another  is  thwarted.  Fate  hammers  at  his 
door,  as  it  hammered  at  Beethoven's,  almost  to 
the  end.  He  aims  at  literary  or  dramatic  success; 
Lope  de  Vega  obtains  it,  he  does  not.  He  aims  at 
military  distinction  and  obtains  it  in  the  great  fight 
of  Lepanto,  but  he  is  maimed  for  Hfe,  and  soon  after 
the  battle  is  captured  by  the  Moors  and  retained  as 
a  prisoner  while  the  best  years  of  his  Hfe  slip  away. 
Renewed  efforts  to  obtain  literary  renown  fail; 
efforts  to  obtain  official  preferment  fail  almost  equally ; 
a  small  appointment  in  connection  with  the  equip- 
ment of  the  Armada  does  not  save  him  from  a  debtor's 
prison.  Don  Quixote  is  "  born  in  a  jail,"  but  with 
its  birth  comes  the  one  gleam  of  light  in  the  Hfe  of 
Cervantes,  now  drawing  to  an  end.  What  a  Quixote 
he  had  indeed  been  all  his  life ! 

These  are  grand,  heroic  figures,  it  will  be  said,  and 
ah  poets  are  not  such.  No,  and  in  some  instances  it 
is  quite  profitless  to  employ  the  biographical  device. 
But  a  touch  of  biography  here  and  there  is  rarely 
a  mistake.  It  is  true  that  Longfellow's  domestic 
griefs,  Whittier's  antislavery  record,  this  or  that 
author's  unfortunate  deaHngs  with  pubHshers,  or 
the  titanic  griefs  of  men  like  Dante  and  Cervantes 
are  not  capable  of  being  brought  to  the  child's  inner 
comprehension  in  any  very  vital  way.  The  chasm 
of  age  and  experience  is  probably  wider  than  any  chasm 
of  nationality,  sex,  or  even  genius,  and  there  is  a 


lo8  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

distinct  danger  in  so  taking  the  freshness  and  the 
flavor  out  of  grand  biographical  material  that  when 
adolescence  comes  —  the  age  of  hero  worship  when 
biography  is  all-important  —  the  life  of  a  great  man 
may  appear  flat,  stale,  and  unprofitable.  A  touch 
of  biography,  then,  is  all  that  in  most  cases  should 
be  given  by  the  teacher.  That  can  do  no  harm  to 
a  fuller  biographical  treatment  and  may,  indeed,  pave 
the  way  for  it. 

The  teaching  of  epics  and  dramas.  —  In  the  chapters 
that  precede  I  have  been  keeping  in  mind  the  teaching 
rather  of  lyrics  than  of  epics  and  dramas,  and  though 
I  have  drawn  many  examples  (of  metaphor  and  the 
like)  from  Shakespeare  and  Milton,  they  have  been 
employed  to  illustrate  the  teaching  of  short  rather 
than  long  pieces.  What  is  to  be  said  about  the 
latter  ? 

The  first  thing  to  say  is  that  none  of  us  knows  the 
possibihties  of  such  teaching.  It  is  quite  possible 
that  eighteenth  century  rhyming  poetry,  e.g.  Pope's 
Homer's  Iliad,  would  appeal  profoundly  to  our  pupils. 
The  matter  should  be  put  to  test.  There  was  no 
need  to  carry  the  romantic  reaction  from  classicism 
so  far  as  wholly  to  exclude  classic  poetry  from  our 
schools.  I  know  that,  before  I  was  fourteen,  I  ap- 
preciated the  parting  of  Hector  and  Andromache 
in  the  Iliad.  Again,  as  I  have  said  above,  it  is 
quite  possible  that  even   Paradise  Lost,  if   read  or 


POSSIBILITIES  109 

recited  impressively  to  a  class,  would  powerfully 
attract  some  at  least  of  the  pupils.  Certainly  Milton 
cannot  be  made  a  popular  poet  so  long  as  the  eye 
for  printed  matter  is  the  means  of  introduction  to 
the  poet,  but  if  the  ear  for  rich  rhythms  and  allitera- 
tions is  the  means,  a  very  different  result  may  be 
expected. 

As  to  Shakespeare,  a  word  should  be  said  with  regard 
to  the  "  dramatic  method  of  teaching,"  recently  ex- 
pounded in  England  by  Miss  Findlay  Johnson.  There 
is  no  question  as  to  the  folly  of  emplojdng  purely  sit- 
still  methods  in  connection  with  Shakespeare,  and,  as 
Miss  Johnson  has  shown,  not  only  literary  and  histor- 
ical lessons  but  even  geographical,  can  be  enormously 
enhvened  by  the  emplo>Tnent  of  dialogue.  Obviously, 
too,  the  acquisition  of  facts  goes  side  by  side  with 
the  employment,  often  in  self-expressional  forms,  of 
language;  "  composition  "  and  "  geography  "  are  be- 
ing learned  simultaneously. 

One  or  two  dangers,  however,  suggest  themselves  in  con- 
nection with  the  dramatization  of  Shakespeare  in  schools. 

The  teacher  should  not  entirely  neglect  the  old  reposeful, 
sit-still  literature  lesson  in  favor  of  the  more  demonstrative 
methods  now  in  vogue.  This  neglect  is  quite  possible;  in- 
deed something  of  the  kind  is  taking  place  at  present  in  another 
connection,  for  we  see  the  popularity  and  the  possibilities  of 
the  cinematograph  expelling  from  the  mind  of  the  teacher  and 
school  administrator  the  fact  that  there  are  quiet  museums 
and  beautiful  galleries  possessing  far  more  permanent  signif- 


no  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

icance.  Dramatic  literature  should  not  be  entirely  an  affair 
of  bustle  and  action ;  there  are  subtle  elements  in  it,  moral 
and  aesthetic,  that  demand  quieter  treatment. 

Again,  though  the  employment  of  silvered  cardboard  for 
armor,  of  chain-mail  made  out  of  twisted  string,  and  of  togas 
improvised  out  of  nightgowns  undoubtedly  adds  interest  to 
a  Shakespearean  recital,  there  is  some  danger  of  the  improvised 
properties,  because  of  their  occasional  squalor  or  absurdity, 
involving  the  method  in  criticism  and  ultimately  exposing  it 
to  reaction.  Conceivably,  too,  these  "properties"  may  be 
implanting  wrong  ideas  in  the  children's  minds,  but  I  am  more 
concerned  with  their  effect  upon  the  somewhat  stupid  minds 
of  adult  people.  I  have  seen  in  England  too  many  fads  ex- 
ploited for  a  time  only  to  be  dropped  in  five  years  and  laughed 
at  as  old-fashioned  in  twenty  by  the  successors  of  the  faddists, 
to  be  quite  wholehearted  in  my  sympathy  with  the  latest 
enthusiasm.  In  the  interest  of  the  dramatic  method  itself, 
therefore,  let  us  use  it  in  moderation  or  we  shall  find,  in  a  few 
years,  that  people  will  be  tired  of  it. 

It  is  obvious  that  a  Shakespearean  "  lesson  in 
appreciation  "  must  take  a  more  diffused  form  than 
when  the  single  lyric  is  concerned,  though  many  of  the 
remarks  in  Chapters  I-V  hold  good  still.  The  advice 
to  exclude  "  problems "  is,  however,  inapplicable 
to  the  study  of  dramatic  literature.  Was  Hamlet 
mad?  Which  was  the  cleverer  man,  and  which  was 
the  better  man,  Brutus  or  Cassius?  Assuming  that 
Shakespeare  wrote  King  Henry  the  Eighth,  do  his 
sympathies  appear  to  have  been  with  the  Protestant 
or   the    Roman    Catholic   side?     Was   Lear    "more 


POSSIBILITIES  111 

sinned  against  than  sinning  "  ?  These  large  problems, 
flanked  by  a  few  smaller  ones,  will  give  an  enormous 
enhancement  to  the  interest  in  the  drama  under 
study ;  even  by  a  class  of  mediocre  children  many 
passages  will  be  discovered  which  "  prove  "  one  thing 
or  another,  and  splendid  material  for  essay  writing 
as  well  as  for  class  discussion  will  be  provided. 

The  policy  of  ear  before  eye,  all-important  in  con- 
nection with  beautiful  lyrics,  is  of  considerable  im- 
portance here  also,  but  it  need  not  be  carried  out  in 
an  undeviating  manner.  All  the  finest  passages  — 
those  that  are  most  poetical  or  those  that  are  most 
dramatically  expressive —  should,  I  think,  come  to  the 
pupil  through  his  ear,  particularly  as  the  language 
often  contains  antiquated  constructions  which  cause 
far  more  "  distraction  "  when  seen  in  printed  form 
than  when  heard  in  their  explanatory  context;  but 
there  are  considerable  tracts  of  dialogue  in  Shake- 
speare, including,  perhaps,  his  comic  scenes,  about 
which  the  teacher  need  not  be  fastidious. 

The  whole  realm  of  comedy  and  humor  is,  however, 
educationally  an  unexplored  one,  deserving  a  treatise 
all  to  itself.  Where  a  really  immortal  joke  is  con- 
cerned the  teacher  may,  legitimately,  pioneer  it  him- 
self and  not  leave  it  to  be  interpreted  by  the  stumbling 
efforts  of  a  school  class.  Just  as  metaphors  are 
unmeaning  unless  their  dual  basis  is  appreciated, 
so  a  joke  is  unmeaning  unless  it  moves  against  its 


112  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

own  background.  The  child  who  does  not  know 
what  "  odious  "  means  and  what  "  odorous  "  means 
cannot  laugh  at  the  famous  confusion  between  them 
which  Shakespeare  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Dogberry. 
As  in  the  case  of  metaphors,  too,  it  is  almost  useless 
to  try  to  make  up  for  lost  opportunities  by  **  explana- 
tions "  after  the  joke  has  fallen  flat. 


CHAPTER  X 

SOME   PRINCIPLES  OF  MUSIC 

I  SHALL  have  less  to  say  about  music  than  about 
poetry,  and  I  shall  make  no  attempt  to  work  out  a 
scheme  of  pedagogical  stages.  Sooner  or  later  the 
world  will  have  such  a  scheme,  but  at  the  present 
moment,  even  if  it  could  be  formulated,  it  would 
probably  do  more  harm  than  good.  Music  is  making 
such  rapid  advances  in  the  direction  of  intellectuaUty 
and  complexity  that  contrasts  between  it  and  poetry 
are  a  little  dangerous ;  indeed  the  two  arts  are  rather 
closely  akin  to  each  other  and  obey,  at  several  points, 
the  same  laws.  Broadly,  it  is  true  to  say  that  simple 
musical  appreciation  is  easier  to  awaken  than  poetical 
appreciation.  The  higher  forms  of  musical  apprecia- 
tion, however,  make  demands  to  which,  at  present, 
the  school  cannot  very  well  respond  —  subtle  forms 
of  "  preparation  "  corresponding  to  the  "  pioneering  " 
of  metaphors  discussed  in  Chapter  IV.  Some  of 
these  demands  will  be  indicated  in  the  chapters  that 
follow,  but  I  am  mainly  concerned  for  two  things : 
first,  to  encourage  our  more  ambitious  teachers  to 
work  at  the  technique  of  the  lesson  on  musical  ap- 
I  113 


114  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

preciation  ;  and,  secondly,  to  point  out  some  common 
errors  in  procedure. 

The  social  significance  of  musical  appreciation.  — 
When  we  lift  our  eyes  from  the  classroom  and  fix 
them  on  our  emptying  rural  districts  and  our  swarm- 
ing urban  areas  where  dull  toil  is  followed  by  crude 
and  feverish  pleasure ;  when  we  think  of  the  possi- 
bilities of  music  in  public  parks  and  concert  rooms,  in 
family  circles  and  national  festivals ;  we  realize  at 
once  that  the  question  of  musical  appreciation  pos- 
sesses an  importance  far  greater  than  most  questions 
of  pedagogics.  How  is  the  problem  thus  presented 
to  be  grappled  with? 

We  must,  in  the  first  place,  study  child  nature, 
adolescent  nature,  and  adult  nature.  Observation 
of  others,  memory  of  our  own  experiences,  and  the 
study  of  biography  will  all  help  us  here.  If  such  or 
such  a  song  or  musical  phrase  is  reported  to  have 
impressed  an  individual  at  a  certain  period  or  at  a 
certain  crisis  in  his  life,  it  is  our  duty  to  investigate 
the  circumstances  and  to  try  to  deduce  from  it  some 
hints  for  future  guidance. 

We  must,  secondly,  study  the  methods  of  presen- 
tation successfully  adopted  by  great  artists.  The 
passage  already  quoted  from  Wagner  will  show  what 
is  here  meant. 

In  the  third  place,  we  must  study  works  of  art 
themselves  and  try  to  find  out  the  devices  by  which 


SOME   PRINCIPLES   OF   MUSIC 


115 


various  musical  effects  are  produced.  At  some  stage 
or  other  we  shall  have  to  discuss  these  devices  with 
our  pupils  (juvenile,  adolescent,  or  adult)  just  as,  in 
Stage  Five  of  the  lesson  in  poetical  appreciation,  we 
have  to  discuss  poetical  structure ;  but  before  we 
discuss  them,  we  must  know  them  ourselves. 

It  is  from  this  third  standpoint  that  I  proceed  to 
summarize  the  musical  principles  exemplified  in  the 
nine  symphonies  of  Beethoven,  borrowing  the  ex- 
position from  the  well-known  work  of  Grove. ^ 

The  principle  of  repetition.  —  This  principle,  — 
basal,  as  we  have  seen,  in  poetry,  —  is  probably  the 
most  basal  of  all  in  music.  Repetition  is  never 
absent  long  from  any  piece  of  music.  It  may  be 
noticeable  within  a  single  bar  as  in  this  instance  of 
likeness  with  difference :  — 


P^^ 


Dvorak.    Neu  World  Symphonu. 


or  within  two  bars,  as  in  the  opening  of  the  Fijth 
Symphony. 


/T» 


Beethoven. 


1  Sir  George  Grove,  Dictionary  of  Music  and  Musicians.     Also 
Beethoven  and  his  Nine  Symphonies. 


Il6  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

It  may  be  a  mere  whisper  of  repetition,  so  delicate 
that  the  ear  is  hardly  conscious  of  it  at  all,  or  it  may 
persist  through  many  bars,  as  in  the  passage  whose 
beginning  has  just  been  given. 

Repetition,  carried  to  excess,  becomes  monotonous. 
Is  monotony  unpleasant  ?  Not  always ;  now  and 
then  it  is  exactly  the  effect  which  a  musician  desires 
to  produce.  An  example  of  it  is  found  in  the  first 
movement  of  the  Sixth  (or  Pastoral)  Symphony. 
The  ''  constant  sounds  of  nature,  the  monotony  of 
rustling  leaves  and  swaying  trees  and  running  brooks 
and  blowing  wind,"  are  here  suggested  to  the  mind 
(not,  in  the  strict  sense,  imitated  directly,  though  in 
the  Symphony  there  are  some  examples  of  deliberate 
imitation) ;  and  the  resultant  effect  is  one  of  "  monot- 
ony which  is  never  monotonous."  The  "  forest 
murmurs  "  in  Wagner's  Siegfried  and  Siegfried  Idyll 
are  much  like  Beethoven's  movement. 

In  the  second  movement  of  the  Second  S>Tnphony 
there  are  also  "  endless  repetitions."  "  But  who," 
asks  Grove,  "  ever  wished  them  curtailed?  " 

Still,  monotony  is  usually  disagreeable,  and  the 
musician  must  seek  to  avoid  it.  "  La  nature  est 
bonne  a  imiter,  mais  non  pas  jusqu'a  I'ennui."  ^ 
The  musician,  therefore,  introduces  changes  of  various 
kinds. 

The  principle  of  contrast.  —  In  other  words,  to 
*  D'Alembert,  quoted  by  Grove,  p.  196. 


SOME   PRINCIPLES   OF  MUSIC  II7 

make  repetition  aesthetically  impressive  it  must  be 
heightened  by  the  exactly  opposite  principle  of  con- 
trast, and  here  again  the  change  may  be  deUcate, 
hardly  recognizable  at  all,  or  obvious,  perhaps  even 
violent  and  overwhelming. 

Nowhere  is  the  real  greatness  of  a  musician  better 
seen  than  in  his  control  over  the  resources  of  contrast. 
It  is  easy  to  use  them  to  excess  and  thus  lose  hold 
of  all  the  coherence  and  continuity,  all  the  famiHar- 
ity,  all  the  sense  of  being  "  at  home,"  that  come  from 
repetition.  The  great  musicians  steer  successfully 
between  this  danger  and  the  opposite  danger  of 
monotony.  Beethoven,  for  example,  gives  us,  in 
his  Second  Symphony,  "  changes  both  sudden  and 
suitable  such  as  at  once  to  rouse  the  attention,  and, 
with  all  their  oddity,  to  convince  the  reason  and 
satisfy  the  taste."  Some  of  these  changes,  from  loud 
to  soft,  from  full  orchestra  to  single  instrument,  from 
one  instrument  to  another,  from  one  key  to  another, 
from  legato  to  staccato,  from  regular  time  to  syncopa- 
tion and  broken  accents,  gave  great  offense  to  the 
conventional  musicians  of  his  age,  who  saw  in  them, 
no  doubt,  the  complete  destruction  of  the  opposite 
and  equally  necessary  principle.  And,  indeed,  art 
is  always  oscillating  between  the  extremes  of  rigid 
obedience  to  rules,  on  the  one  side,  and  freedom  of 
invention  on  the  other,  and  great  excesses  have  been 
committed   in    the   interests   of   both    causes.     The 


Il8  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

battle,  as  already  pointed  out,  is  commonly  known 
as  that  between  the  "  classic  "  and  the  "  romantic." 

Contrasts  are  usually  apparent  between  the  "  first 
subject  "  of  a  symphony  movement  and  the  "  second." 
Not  only  is  the  first  usually  vigorous  and  the  second 
tender,  but  while  the  first  is  on  the  key  note  the 
second  is  usually  on  the  dominant.  There  is,  too, 
strong  contrast  between  the  four  movements,  the 
usual  order  being  Fast,  Slow,  Fast  (Minuet  or  Scherzo). 
Very  Fast. 

In  some  cases,  too,  the  musician  gives  us  what  seems  like 
absolute  chaos — "irreconcilable  discords  and  stubborn  dis- 
arrangements of  the  rhythm  "  —  in  order  to  convey  the  impres- 
sion of  obstinacy,  fury,  and  the  like  as,  for  example,  in  the  first 
movement  of  the  Eroica  Symphony,  in  which  a  struggle  be- 
tween the  great  hero  and  the  difhculties  he  had  to  overcome 
are  supposed  to  be  represented. 

Violent  changes  of  all  kinds  really  go  beyond  mere  con- 
trast, for  contrast  usually  implies  a  certain  underlying  resem- 
blance. We  do  not  contrast  bright  days  with  tall  buildings 
but  with  dark  days.  When,  therefore,  Beethoven,  in  the  last 
movement  of  the  Eighth  Symphony,  introduces  a  terrific  and 
sudden  outburst  which  breaks  the  whole  continuity,  we  feel 
that  we  are  straining  the  language  to  speak  of  "contrast"  at 
all.  A  soft  C  natural  is  followed  by  a  roaring  C  sharp  on  the 
"up  beat,"  the  weak  portion  of  the  bar.  It  is  made  "as  un- 
bearable as  possible."  "It  comes  upon  the  artless  passage 
which  it  so  rudely  interrupts  like  a  sudden  stroke  of  fate  on 
the  life  of  some  gentle  child." 

If,  as  Grove  insists,  this  C  sharp  is  a  huge  and  almost  brutal 
joke  —  a  mere  cry  or  noise  which  does  not  affect  the  music  — 


SOME   PRINCIPLES   OF   MUSIC  II9 

it  would  almost  seem  to  be  illegitimate.     We  are  in  the  realm 
of  humor  not  of  aesthetics. 

Repetition  alone,  then,  is  monotonous ;  change 
alone  is  mere  noise.  The  methods  by  which  these 
two  can  be  combined  is  the  problem  for  the  musician. 
There  is  pleasure  in  mere  repetition,  there  is  pleasure 
in  mere  contrast,  but  when  the  two  are  skillfully 
combined  the  pleasure  not  only,  as  a  rule,  is  greater 
but  is,  so  to  speak,  on  a  higher  plane,  more  complex 
and  less  unsophisticated. 

Humanly  speaking,  there  is  no  limit  to  the  possible 
sources  of  pleasure  thus  opened  up. 

Variety  in  repetition.  —  Repetition  may  predomi- 
nate, with  only  a  Httle  contrast ;  or  the  repetition 
may  be  so  slight  as  to  be  hardly  noticeable  and  yet 
do  its  perfect  work  all  the  time.  Or  there  may  be 
qualitative  differences ;  a  melody  may  be  transferred 
from  violin  to  flute.  .  .  . 

One  particularly  effective  combination  of  repeti- 
tion with  contrast  is  the  return,  after  an  excursion, 
to  an  original  theme.  Mr.  Macpherson  calls  this 
ABA  arrangement  —  using  a  homely  metaphor  origi- 
nally provided  by  a  child  —  the  "  sandwich  "  prin- 
ciple. It  is  employed  in  many  songs  {e.g.  "  Charlie 
is  my  Darling  ''),  in  the  majority  of  marches,  and, 
in  still  more  noble  forms,  in  sonatas  and  symphonies. 
A  good  many  of  the  "  airs  "  by  Handel,  Gluck,  and 
Mozart  consist  of  three  stanzas,  the  third  of  which  is 


I20  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

identical  with  the  first,  and  this  recurrence  is  pleasur- 
able in  the  extreme.  Beethoven  was  particularly  great 
"  in  his  power  of  first  leading  away  from  the  original 
theme  of  his  symphonic  movement  and  then  '  es- 
caping back  '  to  it  in  various  original  ways." 

Another  form  of  combined  contrast  and  similarity 
is  that  known  as  "  contrary  motion,"  one  voice  (or 
one  instrument)  moving  up  the  scale,  while  another 
voice  (or  instrument)  moves  down,  as  near  the  open- 
ing of  the  Fifth  Symphony.  Another  is  the  device 
of  "  Augmentation,"  the  repetition  of  a  phrase  at 
less  than  its  original  speed. 

Another  form  of  "  likeness  in  difference  "  is  occa- 
sionally employed.  Usually  the  four  movements  of  a 
symphony  are  absolutely  different  from  each  other 
in  the  material  employed.  But  now  and  then  a  musi- 
cian allows  a  phrase  or  a  rhythm  to  be  present  in 
more  than  one  movement.  A  good  example  of  this 
is  found  in  the  Fifth  Symphony.  The  rhythm  of 
the  famous  and  vigorous  first  subject  (see  above, 
p.  104)  is  preserved  in  the  second  movement.  A 
less  striking  instance  is  in  the  First  Symphony,  first 
movement.  Here  Subject  II  borrows  its  arpeggio 
from  Subject  I.  One  might  almost  say  that  in  these 
cases  the  principle  of  association  (to  be  presently 
discussed)  is  being  employed ;  the  memory  of  the 
earlier  phrase  is  being  utilized  for  the  sake  of  the 
pleasurable  sense  of  familiarity. 


SOME  PRINCIPLES  OF  MUSIC  I2l 

The  folly  of  "  tearing  and  hacking  "  a  poem  was 
pointed  out  in  Chapters  V  and  VI.  The  aesthetic 
value  of  repetitions  and  contrasts  depends  on  the  fact 
that  they  are  repetitions  and  contrasts,  that  is  to  say, 
that  each  does  not  stand  in  isolation  from  the  others. 
It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  this  principle  re- 
ceives many  fine  exemplifications  from  music.  In 
the  Scherzo  of  the  Fifth  Symphony  occurs  a  passage 
which  consists  of  nothing  but  "  an  insignificant  chord 
continuously  held  by  low  strings  and  a  pianissimo 
rhythmic  beat  of  the  drum.  Taken  out  of  its  con- 
text it  would  be  perfectly  meaningless.  As  Beethoven 
has  used  it,  it  is  infinitely  .  .  .  impressive."  Towards 
the  end  of  the  preceding  movement,  too,  there  are 
rests  full  of  "  imspeakable  emotion."  Like  the  pauses 
in  Toll  for  the  Brave,  these  rests  must  be  exploited 
to  the  uttermost. 

Yet  artists  of  genius  can  take  great  liberties  even 
with  the  imity  of  their  work.  Nothing  is  more 
characteristic  of  Beethoven  than  his  frequent  intro- 
duction of  unexpected  "  episodes,"  sometimes  of 
"  little  sallies  of  fim  and  humor,"  which,  to  the 
more  rigid  musicians  of  his  time,  were  forms  of  sheer 
indecorum.  The  finale  of  the  Second  Symphony  is 
a  case  in  point ;  another  case  was  referred  to  above 
in  connection  with  the  Eighth  Symphony. 

The  principle  of  association.  —  Beauty  arises  from 
association  as  well  as  from  repetition  and  contrast. 


122  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

One  idea  summons  up  another  which,  being  itself  a 
happy  idea,  reenforces  the  former  and  bathes  it  in  a 
pleasant  atmosphere.  Even  if  the  second  idea  is 
not  markedly  pleasant,  the  summoning  up  remains 
pleasant,  because  of  the  recognition  of  similarity, 
the  feeling  of  familiarity.  Thus,  though  a  thunder- 
storm is  not  pleasant,  there  is  pleasure  in  hearing  a 
thunderstorm  represented  in  music.  Ruskin's  dis- 
cussion of  "  ideas  of  imitation  "  early  in  Modern 
Painters  has  reference  to  this  kind  of  pleasure  of  our 
"  animal  nature."  It  is  closely  connected  with  the 
pleasure  of  mere  repetition  and  yet  the  two  are  not 
identical.  There  is  an  element  of  "  deception  "  in 
imitation ;  we  know  that  we  are  not  listening  to  a 
real  thunderstorm  or  a  real  cuckoo  in  the  Sixth  Sym- 
phony and  the  fact  that  we  know  this  is  the  very 
reason  for  the  pleasure  we  experience. 

The  "  leitmotif."  —  Shghtly  more  complex  than 
these  two  forms  of  pleasure,  which  are  both,  in  a 
sense,  associational,  is  that  which  arises  from  the  em- 
ployment of  leitmotifs  by  Wagner  and  most  modem 
musicians.  One  of  the  most  famous  and  effective 
is  the  Siegfried  motif:  — 


m 


Hz 


=E 


lr\ 


Der  Ring  (Us  Niebelungen. 

This  is   always   associated   with   the   appearance   of 
Siegfried  on  the  stage,  but  it  receives  some  modifica- 


SOME  PRINCIPLES  OF  MUSIC 


123 


tions  according  to  circumstances,  and  in  the  funeral 
march  it  loses  all  its  youthful  gayety  and  becomes 
tragic.  The  resources  of  music  here  are  very  great; 
it  can  exploit  the  laws  of  mental  association  in  ways 
that  probably  no  other  art  can  do.  Something  cor- 
responding to  metaphors  is  here  employed;  in  the 
midst  of  gayety  and  triumph  we  hear  the  ominous 
"  curse  "  motif :  — 


=9^tf 


v-^ 


15>- 


:P± 


ii^ 


-(5^ 


-# P- 


e 


Der  Ring  des  Niebdungen. 


or  in  the  midst  of  tragic  gloom  the  memory  of  the 
joyous  youth  of  the  hero  can  be  recalled.  An  amusing 
instance  of  something  very  similar  to  a  leitmotif  occurs 
towards  the  end  of  H.  M.  S.  Pinafore  where  the  res- 
onant chorus  in  praise  of  the  "  Englishman  "  reminds 
us  of  the  strains  of  Rule  Britannia.  There  is  a  dis- 
tinct pleasure  in  recognizing  familiar  strains  and 
familiar  ideas  in  a  new  setting. 

The  importance  of  the  introduction.  —  The  teacher 
can  learn  much  from  the  musician  on  the  subject  of 
"  introducing  "  a  lesson.  "  The  beginning,"  said  Schu- 
mann, "  is  the  great  thing  "  —  one  appHcation  of  the 
Principle  of  the  First  Impression.  In  Beethoven's 
symphonies  introductions  in  one. form  or  another  are 
often  of  considerable  importance.  The  musician 
rarely  plunges  into  his  main  theme  straight  away. 


124  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

The  First  Symphony  has  a  short  introduction,  the 
Second,  Fourth,  and  Seventh  each  a  long  one. 

Sometimes  the  piece  opens  with  a  "  discord  "  — 
not  an  inharmonious  combination  of  notes,  as  un- 
sophisticated people  might  imagine  from  the  word, 
but  a  combination  of  notes  that  awakens  a  feeling 
of  incompleteness  or  expectation.  This  is  the  case 
with  the  First  Symphony  and  was  originally  the  case 
with  the  Third.  We  have  here  a  process  somewhat 
parallel  with  what  has  been  described  in  Chapter  IV 
as  "  preparing  the  mind  and  mood." 

In  one  case,  at  least,  a  movement  is  made  to  open 
mysteriously.  By  omitting  to  use  the  "  third  "  of 
the  chord  the  composer  leaves  us  uncertain  for  a 
while  as  to  whether  the  chord  is  major  or  minor. 
Such  is  the  device  Beethoven  employs  at  the  begin- 
ning of  his  Ninth  Symphony.  The  reader  may  again 
recall  some  of  the  remarks  in  Chapter  IV. 

Sometimes  the  introductory  notes  have  to  perform 
what  seems  at  first  a  mere  humdrum  function.  The 
musician  wishes  to  mark  the  key  of  his  chief  subject 
and  accordingly  starts  with  an  emphatic  common 
chord.  Examples  are  found  in  the  second  movement 
of  the  First  Symphony  and  the  first  movement  of 
the  Third  (Eroica).  Generally  speaking,  indeed, 
Beethoven  is  fond  of  simple  passages  based  on  the 
common  chord. 

Intermediate   and   concluding   passages.  —  If    the 


SOME   PRINCIPLES   OF   MUSIC  1 25 

beginning  of  a  progressive  work  of  art  is  of  vast 
importance,  the  ending  is  hardly  less  so.  In  the 
days  of  oratory,  the  "  peroration  "  was  highly  es- 
teemed. Beethoven,  more  perhaps  than  other  musi- 
cians, seems  to  have  felt  the  need  of  something  cor- 
responding to  a  peroration  in  his  symphonies ;  con- 
sequently his  codas  or  tail  pieces  frequently  assumed 
large  proportions,  as  in  the  end  of  the  first  movement 
of  the  Choral  {Ninth)  Symphony. 

Passages  sometimes  look  forward  as  well  as  back- 
ward. Early  in  the  Fourth  Symphony  there  comes 
a  passage  intermediate  between  the  first  and  second 
subject  and  full  of  syncopations.  "  The  notes  seem 
almost  to  be  tumbling  over  one  another  in  their 
eagerness  to  get  to  the  second  subject,  or  rather  the 
group  of  melodies  which  form  it."  Now  and  then, 
too,  "  effects  of  inconclusion  "  are  aimed  at,  as  in  the 
second  movement  of  this  same  symphony ;  a  subject 
here  ends  on  the  fifth  of  the  key  instead  of  the  key 
note,  so  that  one  is  left  with  a  hope  that  "  its  loveli- 
ness may  go  on  for  ever." 

So  much  for  orchestral  music.  When  music  is 
"  married  to  immortal  verse  "  we  have  vocal  music. 
The  ideas  or  feelings  called  up  by  the  words  may 
reenforce  or,  conceivably,  interfere  with  the  ideas  or 
feeUngs  called  up  by  the  music.  But  there  is  no  new 
principle  involved. 

Now  it  is  out  of  such  raw  discussions  as  that  set 


126  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

forth  above,  and  out  of  such  hints  as  those  contained 
in  the  record  of  Wagner's  Dresden  experiences,  that 
the  technique  of  the  lesson  in  musical  appreciation 
has  to  be  elaborated.  But  only  a  few  hints,  mainly 
of  the  nature  of  warnings,  will  be  here  contributed  to 
the  theme. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE   TEACHING  OF  MUSIC 

A  FUNDAMENTAL  bliuider  has  been  made  in  connec- 
tion both  with  poetry  and  with  music.  This  is  the 
assumption  that  appreciation  can  be  left  to  look  after 
itself  and  that  the  teacher's  only  task  is  to  confer 
execution  or  technique.  In  England,  at  any  rate, 
we  seem  to  have  taken  for  granted  that  the  aim  of 
the  teaching  of  music  is  to  make  musicians,  just  as 
we  seem  to  have  taken  for  granted  that  the  aim  of 
the  teaching  of  poetry  is  to  make  reciters.  The  as- 
sumptions may  never  have  been  formulated,  and 
indeed  our  very  small  success  in  producing  either 
musicians  or  reciters  is  some  evidence  that  we  have 
never  been  thoroughly  under  the  influence  of  the 
assumptions  in  question,  otherwise  we  should  long 
ago  have  felt  dissatisfied  with  the  results  of  our  ef- 
forts ;  but  certainly  we  have  never  been  influenced  to 
any  important  extent  by  the  notion  of  appreciation. 
A  solitary  school  teacher  here  and  there  may  have 
reaHzed,  dimly  or  clearly,  that  something  was  missing, 
but  our  system  as  a  whole  has  been  concerned  with 
execution  or  technique  and  with  nothing  else. 

The  evil  of  formalism  in  teaching  music.  —  Indeed, 
such  changes  as  have  taken  place  in  England  have 
been  distinctly  away  from  the  appreciation  standpoint. 

127 


128  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

"  Singing  by  ear  "  has  been  driven  out  by  "  singing 
by  note  "  and  is  now  regarded  everywhere  as  crude 
or  old-fashioned.  Quite  recently,  too,  "  voice  train- 
ing "  has  received  more  and  more  official  patronage. 
Both  these  changes  are  in  the  same  direction  —  the 
improvement  of  technique,  the  making  of  professional 
musicians  ;  neither  of  them  can  substantially  influence 
appreciation. 

Relatively  to  the  needs  of  the  time  and  the  possi- 
bihties  of  the  primary  school,  I  think  all  this  is  a 
mistake.  Instead  of  driving  "  singing  by  ear  "  out 
of  schools  in  favor  of  the  teaching  of  musical  nota- 
tion it  should  have  been  made  the  basis  of  the  kind 
of  musical  instruction  now  advocated  by  Shaw,  Mac- 
pherson,  and  Stanley  Hall.  Pupils  should  have  been 
encouraged  to  recognize  the  influence  of  major  and 
minor  modes  and  of  difTerences  of  speed,  the  all-im- 
portant principle  of  repetition,  the  principle  of  vari- 
ety or  difference,  and,  if  possible,  also  the  tones  of 
the  various  orchestral  instruments.  The  pianola,  as 
Hall  has  suggested,  and  even  the  gramophone  might 
have  been  used  to  familiarize  pupils  with  great  works. 
This  program  may  sound  ambitious ;  in  point  of  fact 
it  represents  a  method  considerably  easier  and  im- 
measurably more  interesting  and  culture-giving  than 
"  singing  by  note  " ;  it  would  be  accompanied  by 
very  simple  discussions  on  matters  of  taste :  "  Which 
phrase  do  you  Hke  best?  "     "  What  does  that  song 


THE  TEACHING  OF  MUSIC 


129 


call  up  in  your  mind?  "  and  so  on;  and  gradually, 
from  this  matrix  of  varied  enjoyment,  principles 
would  begin  to  stand  out. 

But  the  wrong  road  was  taken ;  the  printed  book 
was  thrust  between  the  pupil  and  the  fairy  world  of 
sound  that  might  have  been  his ;  and  every  song  was 
henceforward  introduced  to  him  through  the  eye. 

Absurdities  of  the  "  time  "  and  "  tune  "  tests.  — 
In  other  details  also  our  policy  has  been  wrong. 
Consider,  for  example,  the  employment  of  so-called 
"  time  tests." 

On  what  is  musical  "  time  "  based?  On  the  fact 
emphasized  in  the  preceding  chapter  that  certain 
phrases  repeat  themselves  after  a  while  in  their  orig- 
inal or  some  modified  form.  Consider,  for  example, 
the  beautiful  song  from  Gluck's  Orpheus,  Che  Faro 
("  Have  I  lost  thee,  love,  forever?  "). 


^fF^=^ 


^ 


4=±U=t 


:• — ^* 


r  T  r  ^^ 


S 


S 


^siit: 


:f=it 


^— # 


m 


•    s 


^ 


d==: 


-^^- 


f  •  r 


s 


-^-^ 


-^  -&- 


130  THE  LESSON   IN  APPRECIATION 

The  first  nine  notes  form  a  definite  musical  phrase. 
The  next  eight  notes  represent  this  phrase  sHghtly 
modified  —  an  excellent  instance  of  "likeness  in  differ- 
ence "  ;  there  is  about  as  close  a  resemblance  between 
them  as  between  two  Gothic  windows  in  the  same 
church,  and  almost  as  close  a  resemblance  as  between 
the  two  sides  of  a  vase.  Consequently  the  first  note 
and  the  tenth  note  occupy  identical  positions  in  the 
piece.  Wherever  we  draw  our  ''  bars  "  we  must  draw 
them  in  identical  positions  relative  to  these  two  notes. 
If  we  draw  a  bar  immediately  after  the  second  note, 
we  must  also  draw  one  immediately  after  the  eleventh 
note.  We  have  no  choice.  The  rhythm  of  the  piece 
compels  this  division ;  we  cannot  impose  time  upon 
the  musical  phrases  supplied  by  the  musician.  The 
time  is  inherent,  because  recurrence  or  repetition  is 
inherent. 

Simpler  examples  now  follow.  The  third  phrase 
and  the  fourth,  each  consisting  of  six  notes,  are 
identical.  The  two  beautiful  descents  that  follow 
exemplify  likeness  in  difference.  Once  again  our 
"  bars  "  must  obviously  be  drawn  through  identical 
parts  of  the  various  phrases.  We  are  driven,  there- 
fore, to  mark  our  piece  *'  Common  Time."  To  call 
it  I,  f ,  or  any  other  form  of  "  time  "  except  "  com- 
mon "  is  simply  out  of  the  question. 

Now,  keeping  the  fact  in  mind  that  time  is  some- 
thing inherent  in  music  because  music  consists  in 


THE  TEACHING  OF   MUSIC  131 

recurrent  phrases,  that  time  is  not  something  super- 
imposed on  music,  let  us  realize  the  significance,  or 
rather  the  grotesque  folly  and  futility,  of  what  is 
called  a  "  time  test." 

Here  we  have  no  phrases  at  all ;  we  have  one  note, 
and  one  note  only,  repeated  with  certain  arbitrary 
variations  of  length.  Scattered  among  the  printed 
symbols  of  these  sounds  some  one  places  a  number 
of  "  bars  "  and  informs  us  that  the  test  is  written  in 
"  three-pulse  measure,"  or  "  three-four  time,"  or 
"  common  time."  Or,  possibly,  the  bars  are  written 
first  and  the  doh,  doh,  doJts,  or  the  lah,  lak,  lah's,  are 
scattered  by  the  aforesaid  eccentric  person  between 
the  bars.  But  on  what  principle  is  the  "  time  " 
determined?  On  none  whatever.  He  has  thrown 
his  bars  and  his  doh's  exactly  where  he  liked ;  indeed 
he  can,  if  he  choose,  use  the  same  veteran  row  of 
doh's  for  a  half  dozen  different  kinds  of  time.  In 
other  words,  he  has  taken  away  the  most  essential 
element  in  music,  —  recurrent  phrases  of  melody, 
amid  which  certain  homologous  points  establish 
themselves  —  and  then  he  has  imposed  upon  the 
featureless  monotony  which  is  left  whatever  "  time  " 
his  fancy  dictated  to  him,  or  whatever  "  time  "  he 
wished  to  teach  his  pupils. 

And,  then,  having  destroyed  the  soul  of  the  thing, 
he  must  needs  put  a  new  soul  into  it.  Having  ban- 
ished melodic  recurrence,  he  must  introduce  vocalic 


132  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

recurrence  —  for  recurrence  of  some  kind  there  must 
be  if  we  are  to  talk  of  "  time  "  at  all.  This  is  the 
form  the  thing  now  takes :  — 

I  Ta :  fa  I  te :  f e  |  ta :  fa  |  te :  f e  |  ta  :  etc. 

It  is  this  scheme  of  nonsense  syllables  which  now 
constitutes  the  backgroimd  of  an  English  child's  notion 
of  "time."  The  ear  is  laboriously  trained  to  think  of 
this;  it  is  not  trained  to  note  the  glorious  recurrences 
of  Che  Faro  or  of  the  thousand  other  melodies  which 
genius  has  given  to  the  world ! 

The  reader  can  here  scarcely  fail  to  recall  the  fact 
that  the  warfare  of  the  school  against  rhythm  has  been 
waged  in  connection  with  poetry  as  well  as  music. 

Hardly  less  absurd  than  "  time  tests,"  hardly  less  an 
outrage  on  music,  are  the  tests  in  "  tune  "  of  which  so 
large  a  part  of  English  school  lessons  consists.  And  the 
reason  is  the  same.  If  the  reader  will  examine  an  or- 
dinary "  tune  test,"  he  will  find  that  it  consists  of  notes, 
but  never  of  music.  There  is  no  thematic  recurrence  ; 
no  phrase  repeats  itself,  either  changed  or  unchanged. 
In  fact,  the  composer  of  tune  tests  would  think  him- 
self at  fault  if  he  allowed  any  such  recurrence,  for 
the  child  would  begin  to  feel  that  there  was  music 
in  the  test,  that  a  phrase  was  familiar,  and  thus  its 
closing  notes  would  be  anticipated  without  a  slavish 
perusal  of  the  printed  symbols.  The  composer  of 
the  tests  must  prevent  this  at  all  costs,  and  he  does 


THE  TEACHING  OF  MUSIC  I33 

it  by  using  as  many  impossible  and  utterly  unexpected 
intervals  as  possible. 

The  place  of  technique  in  musical  appreciation.  — 
But  here  a  word  of  warning  or  qualification  is  called 
for.  There  must,  presumably,  be  some  teaching  of 
musical  technique  in  schools.  Though  the  teaching 
of  music  through  the  ear  is  the  fundamental  kind  of 
teaching  and  should  be  the  starting  point  of  every- 
thing, it  is  hardly  probable  that  an  adequate  system 
of  musical  education  could  be  entirely  based  on  the 
ear.  The  thing  might,  or  might  not,  be  possible; 
I  am  prepared  to  hear,  at  any  moment,  of  a  splendid 
new  system  of  teaching  music  from  which  tech- 
nique, in  the  present  sense  of  the  word,  is  wholly 
absent.  But  I  am  also  willing  to  grant  that  a 
place  for  technique  may  have  to  be  assigned  in 
perpetuity.  I  speak  as  a  nonspeciahst  and  there- 
fore refuse  to  dogmatize  as  to  future  possibilities 
and  probabihties.  But  it  is  quite  indisputable  that 
the  point  of  view  of  appreciation  is  more  im- 
portant for  primary  schools  than  the  point  of  view  of 
execution ;  that  the  ear  is  more  important  than  the 
eye ;  and  that  all  forms  of  "  time  tests  "  and  "  tune 
tests  "  that  destroy  the  essence  of  music  are  to  be 
looked  upon  with  the  gravest  suspicion. 

The  principle  of  the  first  impression.  —  As  with 
poetry,  this  principle  is  all-important  in  connection 
with  music.     The  pupil's  first  acquaintance  with   a 


134  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

beautiful  song  should  be  made  through  hearing  the 
song  sung  in  a  beautiful  manner ;  it  should  never  be 
made  through  a  series  of  symbols  printed  in  a  book 
or  chalked  on  the  blackboard.  His  second  acquaint- 
ance with  the  song  should  be  made  in  the  same  way, 
and  his  third  also.  After  that  it  matters  little  what 
happens.  He  will  have  learned  to  love  the  song  and 
his  love  will  be  hard  to  destroy. 

Who  is  to  sing  the  song  so  as  to  make  this  powerful 
"first  impression"?  There  is  very  little  doubt 
about  the  answer ;  the  best  singer  in  the  school  will 
have  to  sing  it,  and  in  most  cases  this  means  one  of 
the  teachers,  who,  for  the  present  purpose,  may  have 
to  move  from  one  class  to  another,  singing  in  each  the 
selected  song.  In  a  few  cases  a  pupil  who  can  sing  ex- 
ceptionally well  may  be  trained  by  the  teacher  in  ad- 
vance, and  the  rendering  of  the  song  to  the  class  maybe 
done  by  him.^  But  on  the  whole  the  "  lesson  "  notion 
had  better  be  divorced,  largely  at  any  rate,  from  the 
notion  of  appreciation.  As  I  have  emphasized  more 
than  once,  where  beautiful  songs  or  beautiful  poems 
are  concerned  our  ordinary  concepts  of  classroom  toil 
are  utterly  inappropriate.  Several  classes  may  join 
together  to  hear  the  songs  or  the  poems,  and  perhaps 
special  places,  times,  and  conditions  —  a  hall  with 
color  decorations,  flowers,  etc.  —  may  be  arranged. 

1  With  the  improvement  of  the  graphophone,  the  difl6culty  here 
referred  to  may  be  readily  solved. 


THE  TEACHING  OF   MUSIC  135 

Precautions  against  the  distraction  enemy.  — 
Warnings  against  distraction  are  even  more  impor- 
tant in  connection  with  music  than  in  connection 
with  poetry.  The  common  practice  of  so  construct- 
ing a  time-table  as  to  allow  several  classes  to  shout 
their  songs  against  each  other  through  the  walls  and 
partitions  of  the  school  would  be  absolutely  impos- 
sible if  the  notion  of  appreciation  had  ever  made 
any  headway.  The  plan  is  grotesquely  stupid  for 
at  least  two  reasons.  First,  it  is  uneconomical.  One 
class  gets  no  profit  from  hearing  (even  through  the 
walls  or  partitions)  the  songs  sung  by  another  class, 
whereas  this  is  one  of  the  most  obvious  ways  in  which 
a  hearing  acquaintance  with  songs  might  be  made.. 
Second,  and  perhaps  more  important :  the  effect  of 
the  songs  sung  by  the  class  itself  is  spoiled  by  the 
noise  from  neighboring  rooms.  Herbartian  psycholo- 
gists have  pointed  out  that,  as  a  rule,  the  worst 
possible  kind  of  interference  is  interference  of  "  con- 
trary "  ideas,  that  is,  of  ideas  different  from  each 
other  and  yet  belonging  to  the  same  class  of  ideas ; 
two  colors,  e.g.,  cannot  be  thought  of  simultaneously 
and  in  the  same  connection,  whereas  a  color  and  a 
sound  may  form  a  peaceful  complex.  Now,  by  the 
plan  of  assigning  the  same  hour  to  music  in  several 
classes  we  set  up  the  maximum  of  interference ; 
sounds  interfere  with  sounds :  flattening  will,  there- 
fore, occur,   keynotes  be  lost,   and,   above  all,    the 


136  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

pleasurable  effect  of  one  song  will  be  utterly  spoiled 
by  the  strains  of  one  or  more  other  songs  mixing  with 
it  from  neighboring  rooms.  Wagner  was  ridiculed 
for  having,  in  the  overture  to  the  Meister singers, 
combined  three  simultaneous  strains  into  a  grand 
finale ;   our  schools  have  out-Wagnered  Wagner. 

Too  much  stress  should  not  be  laid  upon  the  proposal  that 
one  class  should  become  familiar  with  the  songs  sung  by  another 
class  as  a  result  of  hearing  them  through  walls  and  partitions. 
There  is  no  objection  to  this  plan  and  there  are  some  advantages 
in  it,  but  it  is  not  dignified  enough  to  be  regarded  very  seriously 
or  to  be  employed  in  a  dehberate  and  elaborate  way.  As 
already  indicated,  the  ver>'  notion  of  one  class  devouring 
one  plateful  of  songs  and  another  class  devouring  another 
must  largely  give  place  to  the  communal  notion  of  music 
as  a  social  fimction  in  which  as  many  people  as  possible  are 
simultaneously  to  share.  Further,  many  songs  and  many 
instrumental  pieces  will  never  be  rendered  by  the  pupils  at 
aU,  either  as  a  united  school  or  in  single  classes ;  they  will  simply 
be  listened  to  as  portions  of  a  fixed  ritual  or  as  items  on  red- 
letter  occasions  devoted  specifically  by  half  the  school  or  the 
whole  of  the  school  to  appreciation ;  enjoyed,  discussed,  and 
remembered.  For  convenience,  however,  I  shall  continue  to 
speak  of  the  "class  teacher"  and  the  "class"  and  to  assume 
that  the  "singing  lesson"  will  continue  for  a  long  time  to 
flourish,  though  with  far  more  time  devoted  to  appreciation 
than  at  present. 

Suggestions.  — What  can  the  class  teacher  do  to  cul- 
tivate the  appreciative  powers  of  his  pupils?  One 
thing  that  he  can  do  —  it  would  come  under  the  category 


THE  TEACHING  OF   MUSIC  137 

of  "positive  preparation  "  and  correspond  to  the  teach- 
ing of  "  quotations  "  in  poetry  —  is  to  familiarize 
his  class  in  advance  with  some  of  the  musical  phrases 
which  will  be  heard  in  their  fuller  context  during  the 
appreciation  lesson  itself.  Perhaps  this  suggestion 
is  more  pertinent  to  the  appreciation  of  orchestral 
than  to  that  of  vocal  music  though  there  is  no  saying 
how  far  it  might  be  applicable  to  the  latter.  The 
appreciation  of  a  complex  work  like  a  symphony  is 
greatly  enhanced  if  we  know  some,  at  least,  of  the 
various  "  subjects  "  or  "  themes  "  and  can  therefore 
recognize  them  as  they  occur  in  their  original  or  in 
some  modified  form.  Indeed,  most  people's  first 
hearing  of  a  symphony  fails  of  much  of  its  aesthetic 
effect  because  of  their  unfamiliarity  with  its  mate- 
rials ;  their  second  and  third  hearings  are  usually 
more  successful.  The  failure  would  not  occur  if  the 
form  of  "  preparation  "  above  discussed  had  a  place 
in  musical  education.  The  "  first  impression  "  — 
always  the  most  important  impression  unless  we 
allow  distractions  to  spoil  or  weaken  it  —  would 
then  come  to  its  own.  The  teacher  should  remember, 
however,  that  excessive  familiarity  is  almost  as  in- 
jurious to  enjoyment  as  unfamiliarity. 

I  hesitate  somewhat  to  approve  of  the  suggestion 
that,  in  such  teaching  of  technique  as  we  may  retain 
in  our  class  instruction,  we  should  make  use  of  beau- 
tiful phrases   from   the  great  musicians,   instead  of 


138  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

the  customary  and  outrageous  time  tests  and  tune 
tests.  Some  teachers  can,  no  doubt,  employ  such 
phrases  with  great  effect,  but  there  are  two  objections 
to  the  plan,  and  in  some  cases  these  are  fatal  objec- 
tions. A  thing  of  beauty  should  be  a  "  joy,"  and,  if 
possible,  "  a  joy  forever  "  ;  it  should  be  loved  for 
its  own  sake,  or  as  a  means  to  some  greater  end ; 
if,  then,  we  use  it  for  the  purpose  of  teaching  technique, 
we  seem  to  be  prostituting  it,  diverting  it  from  the 
purpose  for  which  it  is  designed.  Secondly,  in  so 
diverting  it  we  place  it  in  a  new  atmosphere,  an 
atmosphere  of  effort  and  toil,  perhaps  of  drudgery 
and  disgust.  This  is  contrary  to  the  principle  of 
the  first  impression,  and  it  is  a  direct  challenge  to 
"  distraction  "  to  do  its  worst. 

Still,  it  is  possible  that  the  gap  between  the  lesson 
in  technique  and  the  appreciation  lesson  may,  some 
day,  be  bridged.  At  present  I  am  just  as  con- 
cerned to  distinguish  sharply  between  them  as  I  am 
concerned  to  distinguish  between  the  appreciation 
lesson  in  literature  and  the  lesson  in  grammar.  But 
once  our  schools  have  grasped  the  significance  of 
appreciation,  all  kinds  of  possibilities  may  open  up, 
and,  therefore,  even  in  the  lesson  in  musical  technique, 
the  teacher  may  be  able  to  make  much  use  of  phrases 
from  classical  music  for  purposes  of  illustration  and 
practice  before  the  classical  music  itself  has  been 
heard.      After  it  has  been   heard   and  appreciated, 


THE  TEACmNG  OF   MUSIC  139 

they  may,  of  course,  be  used  with  considerable 
freedom. 

On  the  whole,  therefore,  I  am  inclined  to  say  that 
when  classical  pieces  of  the  first  rank,  in  wholes  or  in 
fragments,  are  employed,  they  should  be  employed  ap- 
preciatively only,  not  for  purposes  of  technical  practice 
in  time  or  tune.  The  teacher  may  point  out  their  struc- 
ture, how  this  phrase  or  that  recurs,  how  it  is  contrasted 
with  another  phrase,  and  so  on ;  all  this  is  a  part  of 
the  appreciation  lesson.  But  when  practice  is  in 
question  the  teacher  should  employ  pieces  of  a  less 
classical  kind,  but  always  music,  not  the  nonmusical 
tests  that  have  hitherto  been  in  use. 

In  one  other  way  the  teacher  may  enhance  the 
appreciation  of  music.  This  is  by  narrating  the 
biographies  of  the  great  musicians  and  showing  how, 
in  many  cases,  the  music  was  an  expression  of  their 
lives.  Perhaps  the  biographical  reference  should 
usually  precede  the  presentation  of  the  composer's 
music  and  constitute  a  form  of  "  preparation  "  such 
as  was  suggested  in  connection  with  poetry.  But 
the  function  of  "  preparation  "  is  really  less  impor- 
tant here  than  in  the  former  case,  since  the  appeal  of 
music  to  the  soul  is  less  complex. 


CHAPTER   XII 
PRINCIPLES  OF  PICTORIAL  ART 

The  pictorial  arts  exemplify  some  of  the  principles 
already  discussed  in  connection  with  poetry  and 
music,  and  some  others  which  are  new.  The  principle 
of  "  balance,"  for  example,  has  not  been  mentioned 
in  the  preceding  chapters,  for  the  reason  that  it  is 
more  negligible  in  the  arts  which  appeal  to  the 
ear,  while  in  the  arts  which  appeal  to  the 
spatial  perception  of  the  eye  it  is  all-important. 
A  brief  outline  of  the  various  principles  that  are 
exemplified  in  these  latter  arts  (such  as  painting, 
sculpture,  architecture,  carving,  pottery)  will  here 
be  given  with  primary  reference  to  pictures  and,  as 
the  primary  source,  Mr.  Poore's  book.  Pictorial 
Composition. 

The  principle  of  unity  or  principality.  —  Most 
fundamental,  perhaps,  is  the  principle  of  unity  or 
"  principahty."  An  old  precept  says  that  "  there 
should  be  two  principal  lights  in  a  picture,"  and  many 
painters  adopt  a  kind  of  diagonal  arrangement  (for 
example,  Whistler's  portraits  of  his  mother  and  of 
Carlyle)  which  presents  one  half  of  the  picture  dark 

140 


PRINCIPLES   OF    PICTORIAL   ART  141 

(with  a  patch  of  Hght)  and  the  other  light  (with  a 
patch  of  dark).  In  any  case,  one  part  of  a  picture 
must  have  comparatively  high  light  or  one  figure  in 
the  picture  must  be  made  prominent  by  being  placed 
in  the  foreground.  Rembrandt,  in  painting  his 
Night  Watch,  got  into  trouble  because  he  gave  more 
prominence  to  two  of  the  burghers  than  to  the  rest. 
Again,  with  regard  to  the  mutual  relationship  of  land- 
scape and  figures,  one  or  the  other  should  be  pre- 
dominant ;  the  painter  must  either  paint  a  landscape 
with  figures,  or  figures  in  a  landscape ;  if  he  tries  to 
be  equally  just  to  both  he  will  prevent  the  mind  of 
the  observer  from  concentrating  upon  anything.  As 
already  pointed  out  in  connection  with  poetry,  art 
must  accentuate  contrast.  Principality  is  lacking  in 
some  pictures,  such  as  Botticelli's  Allegory  of  Spring, 
the  figures  of  which  are  independent  of  one  another. 

Devices  for  insuring  the  effect  of  unity.  —  In  order 
to  emphasize  the  principality  of  one  figure,  the  painter 
has  at  his  command  a  series  of  devices  additional  to 
those  involving  a  manipulation  of  colors  and  lights. 
The  less  important  figures  may  be  looking  expectantly 
or  admiringly  toward  the  principal  figures  (as  in  the 
attitude  of  Saint  Sixtus  and  Saint  Barbara  in  the 
Sistine  Madonna) ;  or  they  may  be  in  motion  toward 
the  principal  figure  (as  in  Guido  Reni's  Aurora)  ; 
or  the  figures  may  be  so  arranged  that  certain  Hues, 
architectural  and  other,  may  converge  on  the  prin- 


142  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

cipal  figure.  One  of  the  most  famous  examples  of 
this  convergence  is  the  Last  Supper  of  Leonardo  da 
Vinci,  a  picture  which  also  illustrates  the  principle 
of  very  formal  balance,  with  two  groups  of  three 
figures  each  placed  on  one  side  of  the  principal  figure. 
Often,  too,  a  "pyramidal"  arrangement  is  adopted. 

It  is  a  complaint  against  many  Renaissance  artists  that 
they  frequently  painted  for  their  Annunciations  settings  so 
elaborate  that  the  eye  was  carried  right  out  of  the  picture, 
the  interest  in  the  subject  itself  was  divided  and  weakened, 
and  distraction  was  produced,  with  the  usual  fatal  results. 
Thus  there  may  be  a  long  perspective  stretching  back  between 
the  two  principal  figures.  Rembrandt,  on  the  other  hand, 
usually  avoided  this  fault.  He  "clogged  the  vision"  of  the 
observer  by  means  of  darkness. 

But  the  foreground  also  may  be  "clogged" ;  may  be  made 
tame  and  dark.  This  may  be  done  quite  legitimately.  "Let- 
ting the  eye  into  the  picture  over  a  foreground  of  subdued 
interest,  or  of  no  interest,  is  one  of  the  most  lime-honored 
articles  of  the  picture-maker's  creed."  But  the  foreground 
should  not  usually  be  blocked  by  horizontal  lines,  for  ex- 
ample, the  lines  of  a  waU ;  though  even  here  a  good  painter, 
by  putting  the  foreground  out  of  focus,  may  carry  the  observer 
across  the  obstruction.  A  horizontal  obstruction  in  the  middle 
distance  is  almost  as  bad  as  one  in  the  foreground. 

Pictures,  in  fact,  like  lessons  in  poetical  apprecia- 
tion, differ  in  their  invitingness.  "  Some  admit  you 
into  their  confidence  .  .  . ;  into  others  you  have  to 
climb  over  a  barrier  or  a  lot  of  useless  detail."  "  Mys- 
tery, subtlety,  and  evasive  charms  are  all  in  place, 


PRINCIPLES   OF   PICTORIAL  ART  143 

but  should  not  stand  on  the  threshold.  One  spot  .  .  . 
there  should  be  toward  which,  through  the  suppression 
of  other  parts,  the  eye  is  led  at  once.  .  .  .  One  item 
after  another,  in  sequence,  the  visitor  should  then  be 
led  to,"  —  so  that  the  eye  travels  in  a  more  or  less 
circular,  elliptical,  or  spiral  manner  over  the  picture. 

When  the  picture  is  one  of  deep  perspective,  the  en- 
trance is  sometimes  made  by  angular  lines  similar  to 
those  of  a  skater's  zigzag  movement,  as  in  other  cases 
various  lines  in  the  picture  lead  inwards  toward  the 
central  figure  that  occupies  the  apex  of  a  pyramid. 

Unity  may  be  destroyed  by  excess  of  detail.  — 
"  The  untutored  mind  always  sees  details."  The 
exact  amount  of  detail  suitable  for  a  work  of  art 
depends  upon  the  character  of  the  work.  Excess  of 
detail  may  distract  the  mind  and  destroy  the  char- 
acter of  the  picture.  People  once  complained  that 
Millet  omitted  the  wrinkles  from  his  peasants' 
breeches.  But  there  should  be  none  of  that  care- 
lessness for  detail  as  to  compromise  the  thing  repre- 
sented in  the  picture. 

Occasionally  the  actual  suppression  of  an  apparently 
necessary  detail  is  in  itself  suggestive.  Grief  has 
been  shown  by  a  face  entirely  covered.  The  actual 
moment  of  some  violent  action  may  not  be  the  most 
suggestive  for  the  painter ;  some  preceding  or  suc- 
ceeding moment  may  be  preferable.  An  idea  may 
thus  be  suggested  "  stretching  on  into  infinity." 


144  THE  LESSOxN  IN  APPRECIATION 

The  principle  of  balance.  —  Only  seemingly  in 
opposition  to  the  principle  of  Unity  is  the  Principle 
oj  Balance. 

An  artist  at  work  will  look  at  his  picture  in  all 
kinds  of  ways,  reversing  it  by  means  of  a  mirror, 
turning  it  upside  down,  etc.  He  will  do  this  in  order 
to  ascertain  whether  its  parts  "  balance  "  well. 

The  picture,  if  a  good  one,  has  a  central  point  and, 
on  both  sides  of  this,  various  components  fall  like 
weights  hanging  to  a  lever,  and  the  forces  on  the 
two  sides  are  equal.  This  applies  also  to  a  less  ex- 
tent to  the  upper  and  lower  halves  of  the  picture. 

Many  persons  consider,  however,  that  formal 
balance  of  the  kind  shown  in  Leonardo's  Last  Supper, 
though  suitable  for  devotional  or  decorative  purposes, 
is  not  altogether  sound  ;  it  is  too  perfect ;  the  picture 
is  divided  too  obviously  into  two  halves,  neither  of 
which  has  precedence.  Some  pictures  are  still  more 
obviously  formal ;  the  center  may  be  actually  va- 
cant. "  In  all  forms  save  the  classic  decoration,  it 
should  be  the  artist's  effort  to  conceal  the  balance 
over  the  center."  Usually  when  there  are  two  figures, 
one  of  them  is  put  in  a  higher  light  or  in  a  slightly 
more  favorable  place  than  the  other ;  or  one  is 
animated  while  the  other  is  still.  When  three  figures 
are  present,  one  of  these  may  be  balanced  against 
the  other  two.  Thus  the  principle  of  unity  or  prin- 
cipaUty  is  preserved  after  all. 


PRINCIPLES  OF   PICTORIAL  ART  145 

The  balancing,  however,  may  not  be  necessarily 
on  the  principle  of  a  pair  of  scales  with  weights  equi- 
distant from  the  fulcrum.  The  arms  may  be  of  un- 
equal length,  but  still  the  balance  of  forces  may  be 
complete.  An  object  far  from  the  center,  and  par- 
ticularly if  well  isolated,  will  attract  powerfully.  A 
notable  instance  is  supplied  in  Gerome's  picture  of 
The  Death  of  Ccesar.  At  first  it  seems  unbalanced ; 
on  the  left  is  the  dead  Caesar,  two  imposing  statues, 
and  the  excited  assassins;  on  the  right  the  empty 
benches  of  the  Senate  House.  But  at  the  extreme 
right  will  be  found  a  sleeping  senator!  His  position 
and  his  isolation  give  him  such  weight  as  to  balance 
the  left  side  of  the  picture. 

It  is  sometimes  found  that  the  foreground  is  too 
*'  aggressive."  This  is  an  instance  of  lack  of  balance. 
The  figures  in  the  distance  should  have  been  more 
prominent  than  they  are.  Conversely,  the  sky  should 
not,  as  a  rule,  be  aggressive  :  it  should  harmonize  with 
the  landscape,  and  not  cause  divided  interest. 

Variety  in  unity.  —  Of  great  importance  is  the 
preventing  of  monotony  or,  in  other  words,  the  pro- 
vision of  variety.  *'  The  simplest  definition  of  pictur- 
esqueness  is  variety  in  unity."  It  is  for  this  reason 
that  in  most  pictures  the  artist  avoids  an  excess 
either  of  horizontals  or  of  verticals.  A  mantel  has 
a  standing  figure  near  it.  A  line  of  men  is  not  allowed 
to  stretch  uninterruptedly  across  the  canvas.     The 


146  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

two  principles  here  referred  to  are  opposition  and 
transition.  Opposition  is  the  meeting  of  one  line  by 
another  at  an  angle ;  transition  is  the  recovery  of 
one  line  after  it  has  crossed  another  line  or  space. 
One  is  reminded  of  musicians'  protests  against  "  con- 
secutive fifths  "  and  the  like. 

In  Rembrandt's  Syndics  the  line  of  four  men  is 
broken  by  the  two  other  men,  one  in  front  and  the 
other  behind.  It  is  a  case  of  transitional  line  or  of  a 
circular  composition. 

Contrast  and  variety  are  also  supplied  by  chiaro- 
scuro or  light  and  shade.  An  effect  of  light  is  produced 
by  adding  darks.  A  low  toned  and  impure  white 
appears  bright  if  darkness  surrounds  it.  Here  again 
the  principle  of  balance  comes  in,  A  middle  tint  is 
the  fulcrum  upon  which  are  balanced  the  opposites  of 
light  and  dark ;  or  it  may  sometimes  act  as  the  arm 
of  the  balance,  of  which  the  other  consists  of  the  two 
extreme  colors.  Thus  one  side  of  the  picture  may 
be  gray,  the  other  side  black  and  white. 

Vertical  lines  have  great  force  and  often  grandeur, 
serenity,  solemnity.  They  may  be  crossed  by  hori- 
zontals, and  points  of  contact  with  the  frame  be  made, 
with  the  result  that  the  effect  is  stable  and  satisfying. 
The  lack  of  horizontals  in  Raphael's  The  Beautiful 
Gate  and  in  Botticelli's  Allegory  of  Spring  is,  in  each 
case,  a  defect. 

Diagonal  or  curved  lines,  on  the  other  hand,  suggest 


PRINCIPLES   OF   PICTORIAL   ART  147 

motion.  The  "  line  of  beauty  "  —  so  named  by 
Hogarth  —  has  somewhat  the  shape  of  the  letter  S, 
or,  more  angularly,  Z.  The  human  back  and  the 
calf  of  the  leg  have  this  shape ;  the  mouth  curve  has 
the  same,  doubled,  so  have  Cupid's  bow  and  a  flame. 
Many  figure  compositions  are  so  arranged,  e.g. 
Rubens's  Descent  from  the  Cross,  or,  in  more  angular 
fashion,  a  stream  or  a  coastline  may  be  made  to 
adopt  this  sweep. 

Other  principles :  repetition,  symmetry,  radiation, 
interchange.  —  Unity  or  Principality  and  Balance 
are  the  two.  most  important  principles  illustrated  in 
pictorial  art.  When,  however,  pure  ornament  is 
taken  into  consideration  other  principles  emerge. 
Repetition,  for  example,  is  here  all-important ;  a 
wall  pattern  consists  of  a  series  of  forms  and  colors 
repeated  over  and  over  again ;  a  cornice  may  be 
decorated  by  "  bead-and-reel  "  ornament,  and  so  on. 
Symmetry  is  also  important  and  is  a  stricter  form  of 
the  principle  of  balance  already  discussed ;  the 
acanthus  ornament  is  one  famous  kind  of  symmetrical 
ornament.  Radiation  from  a  center  is  one  form  of 
sjrmmetry.  Interchange  is  the  combination  of  like- 
ness with  difference  on  a  basis  of  repetition ;  the 
bead  "  interchanges  "  with  the  reel  along  the  cor- 
nice of  a  building. 

I  ought  to  add  that  many  painters  of  the  present 
day  set  many  of  these  principles  at  defiance. 


CHAPTER   XIII 
THE  TEACHING   OF  ART  APPRECIATION 

It  is  far  easier  to  collect  together,  as  in  the  preced- 
ing chapter,  a  number  of  artistic  principles  than  to 
give  concrete  suggestions  for  the  teaching  of  artistic 
appreciation.  I  welcome,  therefore,  two  contribu- 
tions to  the  subject  and  proceed  to  summarize  them. 

M.  Cousinet's  principles.  —  The  articles  by  M. 
Cousinet  ^  have  already  been  referred  to.  His  con- 
clusions with  reference  to  the  appreciation  of  art  are 
mainly  two :  — 

(i)  Appreciation  must  be  cared  for  directly.  Pic- 
tures hanging  silently  on  the  walls  of  the  classroom  do 
not  necessarily  generate  a  spontaneous  appreciation 
of  their  merits. 

(2)  The  child's  appreciation  of  art  is  predominantly 
intellectual,  realistic,  and  dynamic.  This  principle 
is  of  great  practical  importance.  Cousinet,  as  we 
have  seen,  regards  the  child  between  the  ages  of  three 
and  thirteen  as  noncontemplative  or  nonapprecia- 
tive,  mainly  because  he  is  then  busily  engaged  in 
("  distracted  "  by)  the  acquisition  of  language  and 
the  learning  of  facts  and  of  the  laws  of  social  activity. 

'  In  L'Educaleur  Moderne. 
148 


THE  TEACHING   OF   ART  APPRECIATION        149 

Are  we,  then,  to  set  aside  as  hopeless  the  task  of  cul- 
tivating aesthetic  taste  in  the  young  child? 

No ;  for  the  child  has,  after  all,  certain  interests 
which  can  be  employed.  Is  it  true  that  the  child 
does  not  "contemplate"  or  ''appreciate"?  In  a 
sense  he  is  contemplative  par  excellence.  He  notes 
everything  —  but  he  does  not  note  things  cesthetically. 
Sensuous  beauty  does  not  now  appeal  to  him,  though, 
a  few  years  before,  it  appealed  to  him  strongly.  His 
attitude  is  intellectual ;  he  looks  at  an  object  not 
to  enjoy  the  vision  of  it,  but  to  learn  about  it,  and 
particularly  to  learn  its  use.  Again,  his  observation 
is  of  real  rather  than  of  esthetic  objects ;  statues  and 
even  decorative  advertisements  do  not  make  so 
powerful  an  appeal  to  him  as  do  animals,  ma- 
chines, and  the  like.  Above  all,  perhaps,  he  Ukes 
moving  things,  —  hence  the  appeal  of  the  cinemato- 
graph. The  child's  appreciation  is,  in  short,  "  intel- 
lectual, realistic,  dynamic." 

M.  Cousinet  therefore  suggests  that,  as  a  rule,  the 
teacher  of  the  child  should  employ  natural  objects 
rather  than  works  of  art  for  his  lesson  in  appreciation, 
and,  above  all,  that  the  appeal  to  the  intellect  through 
the  use  of  analysis  should  be  encouraged. 

What  does  this  last  and  unsuspected  proposal 
mean  ?  Cold  intellect  in  matters  of  taste !  Are 
we  once  again  to  "murder  to  dissect"?  Yes,  if 
nothing  else  is  possible. 


150  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

M.  Cousinet's  method.  —  The  actual  method 
employed  by  M.  Cousinet  was  to  have  children 
recognize  and  catalogue  (in  literary  essays  or  "  com- 
positions ")  the  various  elements  present  in  painting, 
with  the  cataloguing  done,  first,  in  logical  order,  and 
then,  later  on,  in  painter's  order,  —  that  is,  in  the 
order  of  artistic  importance.  In  the  case  of  a  por- 
trait, the  main  things  for  the  child  to  ascertain  were, 
first,  the  most  characteristic  element,  and,  secondly, 
the  way  in  which  the  painter  subordinated  other 
elements  to  this.  (Here  we  see  the  recognition  of 
the  principle  of  unity  or  principality.)  Esthetic 
education  in  this  sense  is  possible  with  young  children  ; 
but  anything  more  ambitious,  any  attempt  to  summon 
up  a  more  purely  aesthetic  appreciation,  is  likely  to 
fail,  and  should  be  postponed  to  adolescence  at  the 
earliest. 

We  are  here  really  on  very  uncertain  ground.  In  a  lecture  ^ 
at  the  New  York  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  Dr.  Axson 
warned  the  teacher  against  the  "fact  method"  supposed  to 
be  represented  by  Dickens's  Gradgrind.  Referring  to  the 
beautiful  Botticelli  in  the  Museum,  Dr.  Axson  said  that  the 
teacher  should  try  to  make  the  teaching  center  about  the  purity 
of  color  and  clarity  of  outline  shown  in  the  picture,  not  about 
the  biography  of  BotticeUi  or  the  subject  matter  of  the  picture. 
But,  if  M.  Cousinet  is  right,  this  color  appreciation  will  hardly 
be  possible  with  children.  What  is  possible  with  them  is  the 
cataloguing  of  a  few  analytic  impressions  gathered  from  the 

'  Embodied  in  Art  Museums  and  Schools  (New  York,  Scribner's). 


THE  TEACHING  OF   ART  APPRECIATION        151 

subject  matter  of  the  picture  and  from  the  painter's  method 
of  treatment.  Perhaps,  after  all,  Dr.  Axson  means  much  the 
same  as  M.  Cousinet,  for  he  elsewhere  lays  stress  on  the  bio- 
graphical element  suggested  by  many  of  the  paintings  in  the 
Metropolitan  Museum,  —  for  example,  Piombo's  Columbus. 
Certainly  I  do  not  think  that  we  can  easily  exaggerate  the 
importance  of  subject  matter  with  children ;  however  much 
the  artist  may  object,  it  is  the  subject  matter  that  appeals 
most  to  them  —  if  not,  indeed,  to  the  majority  of  adults  as 
well.i  And  this,  presvunably,  is  because  the  subject  matter 
is  usually  dynamic,  —  it  is  suggestive  of  human  life  and  human 
interests. 

Professor  De  Garmo's  theory  of  teaching  apprecia- 
tion. —  It  is  at  this  point  that  Professor  De  Garmo's 
^Esthetic  Education'^  attaches  itself  to  M.  Cousinet's 
articles.  The  book  emphasizes  particularly  the  beauty 
of  modern  tools  and  machinery.  The  author  is  also 
evidently  of  the  opinion  that  the  child's  if  not  the 
adult's  aesthetic  appreciation  is  "  intellectual,  realistic, 
and  dynamic,"  —  represented  typically  by  an  interest 
in  hammers,  steam  engines,  and  the  like,  —  and  there 
is,  therefore,  nothing  surprising  in  his  revival  of  the 
old  and  plausible  doctrine  that  beauty  and  utility 
are  related  at  least  as  closely  as  twin  brothers. 

Accepting  Von  Hartmann's  six  stages  of  formal  beauty,  — 
the  Sensuous,  the  Mathematical  (or  Proportionate),  the  Decora- 

1  It  has  been  said  that,  face  to  face  with  a  picture,  men  are  at- 
tracted most  by  its  tone,  women  by  its  color,  and  children  by  its  form 
and  subject  matter. 

''Syracuse,  N.Y.,  C.  W.  Bardeen,  1912. 


152  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

tive,  the  Vital,  and  the  Typical,  —  Professor  De  Garmo  works 
out  the  second  of  these  in  detail.  "There  is  an  actual,  possibly 
a  necessar>',  correlation  between  mechanical  efficiency  and 
Eesthetic  proportion.  As  a  tool  or  a  machine  increases  in 
all-round  efficiency,  there  is  a  corresponding  increase  in  the 
aesthetic  quality  of  its  proportions."  The  axe  handle,  for 
illustration,  has  become  curved  into  Hogarth's  "line  of  beauty"  ; 
but  the  curvature  was  intended  to  secure  the  "maximum  of 
ease  and  vigor  of  stroke."  The  saw  (with  its  etched  band 
along  the  top  of  the  blade  balancing  the  notched  cutting  edge 
below),  the  plane,  the  brace  and  bit,  the  typewriter,  the  loco- 
motive, the  automobile,  have,  with  increasing  efficiency,  shown 
advance  toward  aesthetic  proportions. 

It  seems  often  difficult  to  establish  a  relationship 
between  beauty  and  mechanical  utility ;  where,  for 
example,  is  the  mechanical  utihty  of  a  Venus  de  Milo  ? 
But  advocates  of  the  utility  theory  can  easily  show 
that  the  beauty  of  the  human  form  is  a  sign  of  health 
and  efficiency,  and  so  the  hoary  argument  proceeds 
on  its  zigzag  course. 

Utility  versus  beauty  in  the  teaching  of  appre- 
ciation. —  The  important  point  for  the  teacher  is 
that  he  should  not  ignore  in  the  interests  of  the 
"  fine  arts  "  the  claims  of  the  "  appHed  arts."  It  is 
around  the  latter,  in  the  opinion  of  the  two  writers 
whom  we  have  quoted,  that  the  interests  of  the  child 
and  of  the  busy  man  tend  to  cluster,  —  although  the 
adolescent  may  have  a  glimmering  appreciation  of 
non-utilitarian  things.     The  life  of  William  Morris 


THE  TEACHING  OF   ART  APPRECIATION        153 

was  largely  devoted  to  the  task  of  bridging  the  gap 
between  "  art  "  and  "  Hfe,"  and  showing  that  fire 
shovels,  coal  scuttles,  houses,  and  machines  were 
fitting  subjects  of  aesthetic  appreciation,  provided  that 
their  ornamentation  was  integral  and  not  merely 
"  stuck  on,"  —  hke  the  floral  decorations  of  a  cash 
register.  "  Beauty,"  as  De  Garmo  reminds  us  in 
quoting  from  Emerson,  "  must  come  back  to  the 
useful  arts,"  and  it  is  perhaps  true,  as  he  suggests, 
that  "  the  distinction  between  the  fine  and  useful 
arts  should  be  forgotten."  "  Attempts  to  develop 
the  aesthetic  nature  of  children  by  relying  on  the  art 
of  other  periods  usually  fail.  .  .  .  The  place  for 
romantic  and  classic  art  is  in  historical  correlation, 
and  they  should  not  be  presented  until  the  pupil  has 
an  apperceiving  basis  for  them." 

With  these  warnings  in  mind,  we  shall  not  be  likely 
to  overestimate  the  possibilities  of  our  lessons  in 
pictorial  appreciation ;  we  shall,  indeed,  be  incHned 
rather  to  distrust  than  to  exaggerate  our  pedagogical 
powers.  With  M.  Cousinet's  words,  "  dynamic  " 
and  "  analytic,"  ringing  in  our  ears,  let  us  proceed 
to  examine  what  the  teacher  can  do. 

Practical  suggestions :  the  biographical  treatment 
and  symbolism.  —  If  an  artist's  life  was  one  of  in- 
tense (tragic  or  other)  interest,  that  fact  gives  in- 
terest to  the  products  of  his  activity.  In  the  case  of 
pictures  one  biographical  law  of  great  importance 


154  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

seems  to  stand  out.  Poverty,  or  at  any  rate,  humble 
origin  —  not  wealth  or  social  status  —  makes  great 
painters.  The  perusal  of  any  catalogue  of  artists 
will  confirm  this  statement.  It  would  seem  as  if, 
for  success  in  certain  kinds  of  art,  the  life  of  the 
artist  must  be  an  intense  life,  a  life  in  contact  with 
the  poignancies  of  existence.  The  teacher  may  oc- 
casionally make  use  of  this  fact  in  his  discussions; 
but  whether  he  does  so  or  not  he  should  certainly 
mention  any  biographical  details  of  real  significance 
in  connection  with  this  or  that  artist,  confident  that 
these  details  will  add  greatly  to  the  interest  in  the 
artist's  work. 

Closely  akin  to  this  exploitation  of  biography  is 
the  exploitation  of  symbolism  if  the  symboHsm  has  a 
specific  bearing  on  the  artist's  Hfe.  It  is  legitimate 
to  see  in  Ulysses  Defying  Polyphemus,  Turner's  own 
defiance  of  the  one-eyed  men  around  him,  and  in  his 
Fighting  Temeraire  a  kind  of  elegy  written  on  him- 
self before  his  powers  had  begun  to  decay. 

Sometimes  the  symbolism  has  no  reference  to  the 
artist's  hfe,  but  concerns  only  his  subject.  "  Analy- 
sis "  here  comes  to  our  aid.  In  The  Boyhood  oj 
Raleigh,  the  toy  ship  in  the  foreground  may  be  taken 
as  a  symbol  of  the  future  career  of  the  two  boys, 
just  as  in  Turner's  picture  of  Dido  building  Carthage 
we  are  showm  a  group  of  children  saiHng  toy  boats. 
A  class  has  first  to  be  introduced  to  such  touches  as 


THE  TEACHING   OF   ART  APPRECIATION        1 55 

these  in  rather  straightforward  ways;  at  any  rate, 
only  a  very  skillful  teacher  could  "  educe  "  the 
symboHsm  of  Millais's  picture ;  but  once  this  mode 
of  treatment  has  been  made  familiar  by  a  couple  of 
examples,  the  cleverer  children  will  be  able  to  make 
very  good  shots  at  interpretation ;  the  cleverer  chil- 
dren only,  of  course.  For  example,  after  discussing 
The  Boyhood  of  Raleigh  with  a  class  of  socially  very 
poor  boys,  I  showed  them  a  print  of  The  Fighting 
Temeraire,  briefly  explained  what  the  picture  stood 
for,  and  then  asked  them  to  find  a  second  meaning 
in  it.  Second  meanings,  some  very  pertinent  and 
some  very  wild,  were  forthcoming  from  several  boys. 
The  blood-red  sky  suggested  Trafalgar  to  one. 

More  remote  and,  in  no  disparaging  sense,  more 
conventional,  is  the  kind  of  symbolism  exempHfied 
in  the  Beata  Beatrix  of  Rossetti ;  the  sundial,  point- 
ing to  the  hour  of  her  departure,  the  white  poppy, 
symbol  of  sleep  and  death,  and  a  multitude  of  other 
details.  It  is  doubtful  whether  this  kind  of  symbolism 
should  receive  much  attention  in  a  school  class ;  but 
some  slight  indication  of  its  existence  is  legitimate 
enough ;  and  certainly  children  will  not  object  to  the 
process  of  "  analysis  "  involved,  though  they  may  miss 
the  elements  of  beauty  and  pathos  in  the  picture. 

Probably  most  visitors  to  the  galleries  of  London  or 
New  York  feel  more  interest  in  the  modern  pictures 
than  the  mediaeval  ones  with  their  statuesque  Saints 


156  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

and  Madonnas.  But  some  knowledge  of  the  symbol- 
ism employed  by  the  late  mediaeval  painters  will  add 
interest  to  their  works.  Red  was  symbolic  of  love, 
blue  of  truth,  green  of  hope ;  St.  Joseph  carries  a 
lily,  St.  Catherine  leans  against  her  wheel,  St.  Francis 
shows  his  stigmata.  With  a  few  facts  like  this  at 
our  disposal,  we  can  easily  interpret  a  mediaeval 
picture  without  looking  at  its  title. 

Interpretations  and  problems.  —  In  other  cases 
it  is  not  so  much  symbolism  as  straightforward  in- 
terpretation that  can  be  sought.  In  connection  with 
Yeames's  picture,  When  Did  You  Last  See  Your 
Father?  the  question  may  be  asked,  "  Is  the  boy's 
father  near  or  far  away?"  The  anxiety  on  the 
mother's  face  will  supply  an  answer.  The  faces  of 
the  Puritan  inquisitors  also  supply  food  for  reflection. 

In  other  cases  little  problems,  geographical,  histori- 
cal, etc.,  can  easily  be  devised  on  the  basis  of  pictures, 
particularly  photographic  pictures.  "  Are  we  look- 
ing to  the  north,  the  south,  the  east,  or  the  west  in 
this  picture?  "  (There  is  a  church  in  it  which  should 
settle  the  matter.)  "  Is  that  the  sun  or  the  moon 
shining  over  the  fishing  fleet?  "  "  In  what  latitude 
is  this  piece  of  seashore  scenery  to  be  located  ?  " 
"  In  what  century  did  this  bewigged  man  probably 
live?" 

It  is  obvious  that  we  have  here  been  deviating,  some- 
what widely,  from  pure  appreciation.     This  matters 


THE  TEACHING  OF   ART  APPRECIATION        157 

little  if  M.  Cousinet  is  right;  still,  the  teacher 
should  not  entirely  ignore  the  aesthetic  aspects  of  a 
work  of  art ;  indeed,  it  is  one  part  of  his  duty  to  intro- 
duce his  pupils  to  some  of  the  principles  of  artistic 
design.     And  here,  again,  "  analysis  "  is  his  weapon. 

The  color  distribution  of  pictures  presents  interest- 
ing problems,  but  how  far  we  can  or  ought  to  introduce 
these  problems  to  children  is  a  doubtful  matter. 
An  oft-quoted  case  is  that  of  Titian's  Bacchus  and 
Ariadne  with  its  expanse  of  cold  blue  and  warm  red, 
the  former  relieved  by  the  red  scarf  of  Ariadne  and 
the  latter  by  a  Httle  blue  on  a  Bacchante. 

In  connection  with  After  Waterloo;  Sauve  qui  peut 
(Gow),  the  teacher  may  ask  his  pupils  why  the  terrified 
throng  of  soldiers,  who  are  jostUng  each  other  to  death, 
do  not  invade  the  empty  field  in  the  foreground.  Wild 
answers  will  be  forthcoming;  but  on  one  occasion 
I  received  a  correct  answer  from  a  boy  who  was 
notoriously  of  an  artistic  temperament ;  the  painter 
had  left  the  foreground  blank  in  order  to  give  the 
figure  of  Napoleon  a  central  and  prominent  position. 
It  is  a  matter  of  design. 

Foreigners  see  in  English  paintings  a  tendency  to 
excess  of  minuteness  and  a  corresponding  lack  of 
breadth  or  total  effectiveness.  The  principle  of 
Unity  or  Principality  is  not  recognized  as  it  should 
be.  The  Pre-RaphaeKtes,  particularly  Holman  Hunt 
and  MiUais  (in  his  earHer  years),  carried  this  charac- 


158  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

teristic  to  an  extreme  point.  Hunt's  method  "  tended 
to  arouse  too  great  interest  in  the  parts  and  so  to 
detract  from  the  impression  of  the  whole."  Many  of 
the  Dutch  painters,  e.g.,  Van  Mieris  and  Gerard  Dow, 
commit  the  same  fault :  "  we  feel  as  though  we  were 
with  a  troublesome  cicerone,  who  will  not  let  us  look 
at  things  with  our  own  eyes,  but  keeps  intruding  him- 
self at  every  touch  and  turn." 

Some  critics  have  objected  to  Raphael's  Ansidei 
Madonna  on  the  ground  that  the  figures  seem  unre- 
lated to  each  other  and  unconscious  of  each  other's 
existence,  and  The  Mill  of  Claude  was,  in  an  oft- 
quoted  passage,  fiercely  assailed  by  Ruskin  as  a 
hotchpotch  of  details  having  no  principle  of  unity. 

In  contrast  may  be  mentioned  the  power  of  Ford 
Maddox  Brown  to  convey  "  one  single  thought " 
with  "  startHng  evidence  of  reality,"  and  the  very 
similar  power  of  Orchardson  "  to  seize  on  dramatic 
situations  or  psychological  moments."  Millais  him- 
self lost  his  early  preoccupation  with  detail  and  in 
such  pictures  as  The  North  West  Passage  made  the 
central  figure  dominate  the  scene.  Among  the 
many  pictures  in  the  National  Gallery  illustrating 
unity  of  design  may  be  mentioned  Piombo's  Raising 
of  Lazarus  and  Copley's  Death  of  Chatham.  In  a 
very  different  department  of  art  we  find  Turner 
making  war  on  detail  —  "  indistinctness  is  my  forte  " 
—  in  the  interests  of  some  atmospheric  effect. 


THE  TEACHING  OF  ART  APPRECIATION        1 59 

Various  other  principles  of  criticism  will  emerge.  Face  to 
face  with  a  picture  by  Rubens  the  pupQ  will  understand  and 
possibly  reject  the  painter's  claim  that  "exuberance  is  beauty." 
Some  painters  have  erred  in  the  opposite  direction ;  G.  D. 
Leslie  "scarcely  permits  himself,  even  in  flesh,  color  enough 
for  life." 

There  is  obvious  and  perhaps  overdone  symmetry  in  Luini's 
Christ  and  the  Pharisees,  in  the  less  known  work  of  Giovenone, 
Madonna  and  Child  with  Saints  (No.  1295  in  the  National 
Gallery) ,  and  in  a  score  of  other  sacred  pictures  both  in  London 
and  New  York. 

In  many  pictures  one  specific  color  is  used  to  stand  out 
conspicuously  from  a  background ;  Isaac  von  Ostade  and 
Wouwerman  introduce  a  white  horse,  Constable,  a  patch  of 
red  in  the  form  of  a  saddle,  a  boy's  jersey,  or  some  other  object. 

The  characteristics  of  Rembrandt's  style  will  be  obvious; 
color  is  sacrificed  to  chiaroscuro. 

All,  or  almost  all,  of  the  above  matters  may  be 
quite  within  the  scope  of  children's  inteUigence,  but, 
so  far  as  employed  by  the  teacher,  pictures  should  be 
employed  chiefly  because  of  the  significance  of  their 
subject  matter. 

The  appreciation  of  ornamentation.  —  Pure  orna- 
ment, however,  falls  under  another  category;  there 
is  no  "  subject  matter  "  at  all ;  beauty  and  beauty 
only  is  concerned.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the 
teacher  will  here  find  an  interesting  and  novel  depart- 
ment of  work.     And  the  guiding  idea  is  again  "  analy- 


sis." 


A  small  experiment  of  my  own  may  be  recorded. 


l6o  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

A  class  had  divided  a  square  into  four  triangular 
portions  and  had  filled  two  triangles  —  opposite  ones 
—  with  identical  designs.  I  then  asked  whether 
we  should  fill  the  remaining  two  with  the  same  designs 
or  v;hether  we  should  introduce  a  difference.  I  found 
that  both  plans  received  strong  support,  and  this  still 
held  good  after  I  had  deliberately  destroyed,  as  far 
as  possible,  the  influence  of  mutual  suggestibility  and 
had  forced  each  boy  to  rely  on  his  own  judgment. 

Now,  the  fact  that  some  boys  preferred  uniformity 
and  others  diversity  was  an  excellent  starting  point 
for  a  discussion  on  the  principles  of  ornament,  for 
ornament  mainly  consists  of  various  combinations  of 
similar  with  different  material.  This  was  easily  illus- 
trated by  the  iron  stove  which  faced  the  boys ;  in  a 
more  elaborate  room  it  might  have  been  illustrated 
by  the  cornice  below  the  ceiling.  A  few  references 
to  the  common  forms  of  classical  ornament,  egg-and- 
tongue,  bead-and-reel,  acanthus,  anthemion,  and  the 
like,  would  then  suffice  to  give  the  class  observant 
eyes  for  ornament  everywhere,  and  before  many  days 
had  elapsed  reports  would  come  in  to  the  teacher  that 
the  egg-and-tongue  ornament  had  been  noticed  on  a 
lift  or  elevator,  and  the  acanthus  ornament  on  an 
electric  standard.  Wall  papers,  carpets,  and  a  thou- 
sand other  objects  will  supply  material  for  the  further 
discussion  of  aesthetic  principles,  and  even  the  old- 
fashioned   "  freehand   copy  "   may,   at   last,   receive 


THE  TEACHING  OF  ART  APPRECIATION        l6l 

sympathetic  consideration  and  be  restored  to  a  place 
in  the  curriculum. 

The  drawing  lesson  itself  will  be  regarded  with 
different  eyes  when  appreciation  is  not,  as  at  present, 
ignored. 

The  appreciation  of  statuary.'  If  it  is  found  inadvisable  to 
give  separate  instruction  in  statuary,  the  subject  may  be  dealt 
with  in  a  course  that  will  include  ornament  and  architecture. 
But  if  separate  treatment  is  attempted,  the  subject  should  prob- 
ably be  linked  closely  to  history,  particularly  in  the  case  of 
Greece.  Appreciation  in  some  of  its  forms  is  largely  a  matter 
of  "historical  perspective." 

As  London  students  are,  for  the  most  part,  ignorant  of  Greek 
history  and,  therefore,  unable  to  put  the  work  of  Phidias  and 
others  into  their  relationship  with  the  political  and  spiritual 
fortunes  of  the  nation,  the  first  lessons  on  the  subject  of  Greek 
art  might  very  well  be  frankly  historical.  The  Persian  invasion, 
the  rule  of  Pericles  (patron  of  Phidias),  and  the  Peloponnesian 
War  are  subjects  of  unfailing  interest.  With  the  conflict 
between  the  Greeks  and  the  Persian  "barbarians,"  barbarism 
itself,  in  artistic  if  not  other  matters,  took  its  flight  from  Greece, 
the  stiff  grinning  features  of  the  "archaic"  statues  giving  place 
to  the  beauty  and  reserve  of  the  Parthenon  marbles.  The 
notion  of  a  conflict  between  civilization  and  barbarism  im- 
pressed itself  so  deeply  on  the  Greek  mind  that  many  of  the 
bas-reliefs  that  followed  the  Persian  invasion  dealt  with  it  under 
a  mythological  guise,  e.g.,  the  war  between  the  Centaurs  and 

*  I  quote  here  some  paragraphs  from  a  document  in  the  composi- 
tion of  which  I  took  a  part,  namely,  the  Memorandum  on  Non- 
Vocational  Institutes,  issued  by  the  London  County  Council,  Decem- 
ber, 1913. 

M 


l62  THE   LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

the  Lapithae  (Parthenon),  between  the  Amazons  and  the  Greeks 
(Mausoleum),  between  the  Titans  and  the  Gods  (Pergamon 
frieze).  Without  this  clew  to  their  meaning  the  bas-reliefs 
may  fail  to  interest  and  the  seriousness  of  Greek  art  go  unrecog- 
nized. 

Having  reached  a  state  of  perfect  balance  in  the  work  of 
Phidias,  Greek  plastic  art  underwent  change  of  two  chief  kinds. 
In  Praxiteles  it  became  effeminately  beautiful  almost  to  a  fault, 
and  in  the  Pergamon  frieze,  the  Laocoon,  etc.,  violent. 

In  some  respects  the  British  Museum  is  the  best  place  in  the 
world  in  which  to  study  Greek  statuary  and  bas-reliefs;  in 
some  others  it  compares  unfavorably  with  more  modern  mu- 
seums, e.g.,  those  at  New  York  and  Pittsburgh.  In  the  latter 
places  there  are  no  originals,  but  the  limitations  and  the 
arrangement  of  the  exhibits  is  more  convenient  for  the  student. 
Still,  the  Elgin  marbles  can  scarcely  fail  to  appeal,  and  the  many 
original  specimens  of  "archaic"  statuary  will  act  as  an  excellent 
foil.  This  is  the  point  upon  which,  perhaps,  the  chief  stress 
should  be  laid  —  the  marvelous  florescence  of  the  Greek  spirit 
during  the  fifth  century  B.C.  Comparison  with  the  statuary 
and  bas-reliefs  of  other  ancient  nations  will  also  be  suggestive, 
Assyria  and  Egypt  being  particularly  important  in  this  connec- 
tion. 

Points  of  biographical  interest  should  never  be  missed,  e.g., 
the  alleged  attack  of  the  Athenians  on  Phidias  ("a  prophet  is 
not  without  honour  save  .  .  ."),  the  wifely  devotion  that  led 
to  the  erection  of  the  Mausoleum,  the  struggle  of  Lord  Elgin  for 
the  possession  and  the  recognition  of  his  marbles,  Byron's 
attack  on  Lord  Elgin  in  The  Curse  of  Minerva.  A  few  of  the 
leading  Renaissance  names,  e.g.,  Verrocchio,  Michael  Angelo, 
should  awaken  biographical  memories.  The  competition  be- 
tween Ghiberti  and  Brunelleschi  for  the  making  of  the  famous 
gate  at  Florence  is  an  episode  of  great  interest  in  the  history  of 


THE  TEACHING  OF   ART   APPRECIATION       163 

bronze  work ;  both  the  episode  and  the  gate  (in  an  excellent 
reproduction)  can  be  studied  in  many  museums.  The  fate  of 
Leonardo  da  Vinci's  equestrian  statue  at  Milan  is  well  described 
(as  indeed  is  the  whole  life  of  that  great  man)  in  Merejkowski's 
novel  The  Forerunner,  one  of  the  best  introductions  to  Ren- 
aissance history  and  ideas.  The  name  of  Rodin,  of  course, 
stands  out  as  that  of  the  greatest  contemporary  sculptor,  but 
the  names  of  modern  sculptors  (Stevens,  Gilbert,  Thornycroft, 
etc.)  should  not  remain  unknown ;  most  of  their  work  is  to  be 
sought,  not  in  museums,  but  in  public  places  such  as  Piccadilly 
Circus  and  the  Victoria  Embankment. 

Applied  art.  —  The  distinction  between  the  "fine"  arts  and 
the  arts  of  industry  has  sometimes  been  used  to  the  disadvan- 
tage of  the  latter,  as  if  they  occupied  a  comparatively  low  plane. 
Unfortunately,  too,  the  very  name  "artist"  has  acquired  a 
limited  meaning.  Yet  centuries  ago  the  distinction  between 
the  two  kinds  of  art  did  not  exist,  and  many  of  the  greatest 
artists  were  "artificers"  also. 

Perhaps  the  teaching  of  appreciation  has  its  very  greatest 
value  in  connection  with  the  products  of  industry.  Demand 
reacts  on  supply  and  supply  on  demand  in  these  matters,  and 
there  is  reason  to  believe  that  if  there  were  a  sounder  apprecia- 
tion of  good  craftsmanship  by  the  general  public,  the  status  of 
good  craftsmen  would  be  raised  owing  to  the  greater  demand 
for  their  work.  This  does  not  mean  that  machine-made  goods 
would  be  driven  out  of  the  market  —  there  would  be  a  legiti- 
mate place  for  them  —  but  that  the  market  would  not  be,  as  at 
present,  monopolized  by  them  to  the  injury  of  the  true  crafts- 
man, who  is  either  condemned  to  a  life  of  poverty  if  he  pursues 
his  ideals,  or  compelled  to  prostitute  his  gifts  in  order  to  make  a 
living. 

Though  wood  carving,  woodwork,  and  repoussi  are  well- 
estabhshed  subjects  in  London  evening  institutes,  there  is  evi- 


164  THE   LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

dence  that,  like  many  other  subjects,  they  have  been  taught 
almost  wholly  from  the  standpoint  of  technique  or  execution, 
and  not  of  appreciation.  Without  any  fundamental  alteration 
in  present  methods,  this  latter  aspect  should  receive  more  stress 
in  the  future.  Facts  in  the  history  of  the  respective  arts 
should  be  referred  to  more  frequently  (e.g.,  the  preeminence  of 
Mediaeval  Germany  in  wood  carving),  and  visits  to  museums 
should  be  made  with  a  view  to  seeing  what  has  been  done  in  the 
past,  and  to  gather  hints  for  constructive  work. 

The  fundamental  aesthetic  vice  is  a  moral  one ;  a  desire  to 
imitate  those  who  have  a  larger  income  than  ourselves,  and  can, 
therefore,  purchase  (without  necessarily  appreciating)  more 
expensive  things.  Thus  arises  a  demand  for  sham  art,  to  which 
the  craftsman  has  to  respond,  instead  of  working  creatively 
along  his  own  lines.  The  demand  comes  from  both  sexes,  and 
the  present  remarks  have  as  much  bearing  on  instruction  in 
needlework  and  domestic  crafts  as  on  instruction  in  woodwork, 
etc. 

Articles  should  be  good  in  color,  design,  and  suitability. 
Examples  of  good  craft  should  be  permanently  on  show  and  be 
frequently  referred  to.  The  name  of  William  Morris  is  the 
most  notable  one  of  all  in  this  connection.  The  artistic  impulse 
has  no  connection  with  the  money  motive  ;  the  good  craftsman 
has  his  "heart  in  his  work,"  so  much  so  that  he  even  tries  to 
beautify  his  tools.  One  or  more  lectures  illustrated  by  speci- 
mens or  the  lantern  might  be  given  by  a  craft  instructor  to  the 
entire  institute  in  order  to  awaken  an  interest  in  this  important 
side  of  educational  work. 

Various  principles  of  ornament  will,  of  course,  be  found  exem- 
pHfied  in  every  form  of  applied  art  (architecture,  needlework, 
embroidery,  etc.),  and  they  can  be  more  clearly  perceived  here 
than  in  pictures,  because  in  the  latter  there  is  a  "subject" 
calling  for  expression. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  MODERN  DRAMA  AND  THE  NOVTL 

If  the  present  book  were  concerned  with  the  edu- 
cation of  adults,  a  good  deal  would  have  to  be  said 
about  the  systematic  and  official  exploitation  of  the 
modern  drama  and  the  modern  novel. ^  There  is  no 
doubt  that,  by  administrative  methods,  much  valuable 
work  could  be  done  in  the  direction  of  guiding  popular 
taste  and  making  the  task  of  the  sincere  and  original 
dramatist  and  novelist  less  hard  than  at  present. 
But  our  concern  in  this  book  is  with  the  pedagogy  of 
a  specific  subject,  i.e.,  with  legitimate  scholastic 
devices  for  enhancing  the  appreciative  powers,  not 
of  adults,  but  of  children  and  youths. 

Even  now  the  school  employs  Shakespeare's  dramas  both 
as  a  classroom  literature  and  as  material  for  acting  at  school 
gatherings.  Novels,  too,  of  the  historical  kind,  are  generally 
recognized  in  both  the  elementary  and  secondary  phases  of 
American  education.  But  the  characteristic  modern  drama 
and  modern  novel  are  evidently  out  of  the  question  in  the  case 
of  children.  The  problems  dealt  with  in  them  are  specifically 
adult,  demanding  an  experience  of  life  of  which  no  child,  and 

^  Some  suggestions  to  this  end  are  contained  in  the  author's  Edu- 
cational Administration  atid  Criticism. 

165 


1 66  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

even  no  adolescent,  can  possibly  be  in  possession.  Further, 
the  main  appeal  in  the  modern  drama  and  novel  is  not  to 
aesthetic  appreciation,  but  to  the  reason ;  the  very  word 
"problem,"  used  above,  implies  this,  and,  as  we  have  seen, 
problem  solving  is  a  deadly  enemy  to  pure  appreciation.  By 
general  consent,  therefore,  the  lesson  in  appreciation  must 
be  mainly  concerned  with  poetry,  music,  pictures,  and  the 
applied  arts. 

If,  then,  I  discuss  briefly  the  modern  arts  of 
drama  and  fiction,  the  reason  will  be  that  they 
throw  some  indirect  light  upon  the  aesthetic  principles 
previously  expounded,  —  the  principles  of  unity,  con- 
trast, and  the  like. 

The  modern  drama :  abolition  of  the  soliloquy.  — 
Changes  have  come  over  the  drama  of  recent  years. 
Dramatists  have  realized  more  than  ever  that  any- 
thing which  introduces  a  jarring  note  —  for  example, 
a  note  of  absurdity  —  into  a  drama  spoils  the  aesthetic 
effect.  It  is  the  doctrine  of  "  distraction  "  over 
again.  Now  "  soliloquies  "  and  "  asides  "  were  al- 
ways a  little  absurd,  for  people  do  not,  in  ordinary 
life,  express  their  thoughts  aloud  to  themselves ; 
recent  dramatic  art,  therefore,  as  represented  by 
Ibsen,  has  almost  wholly  abandoned  these  crude 
devices  and  has  learned  how  to  make  dialogue  take 
their  place.  A  bosom  friend,  for  example,  is  par- 
ticularly useful  when  confessions  and  plots  are  pend- 
ing. 

But  this  salutary  change  has  led  to  other  difl&culties. 


THE  MODERN  DRAMA  AND  THE  NOVEL        167 

Students  of  the  "  principle  of  the  first  impression  " 
will  understand  how  important  it  is  that  the  first 
scene  should  be  successful,  and  yet  dramatists  have 
to  use  this  scene  for  the  purpose  of  introducing  a  mass 
of  introductory  matter,  necessary  to  be  known  and 
yet  likely  to  be  lacking  in  all  dramatic  interest.  In 
ancient  times,  one  character  was  employed  to  make 
a  huge  prefatory  soliloquy,  or,  rather,  a  speech, 
to  the  audience.  A  more  skillful  plan,  still  very 
common,  is  to  use  a  servant,  a  duenna,  a  bosom 
friend,  or  a  traveler  just  returned  from  the  South 
Seas  as  recipient  of  the  latest  news  of  the  town. 
There  is  no  objection  to  this  so  long  as  these  char- 
acters are  used  as  integral  parts  of  the  drama,  but  if 
they  are  obviously  dragged  in  for  the  one  purpose 
of  getting  the  "  story  "  started,  the  art  is  now  re- 
garded as  bad.  Thus  the  tendency  has  been,  first 
to  abandon  the  soliloquy,  and  then  to  abandon  the 
dummy  dialogue  and  dummy  characters  that  took 
the  place  of  the  soliloquy.  Needless  to  say,  these 
undesirable  elements  are  still  all  too  common,  but 
they  are  being  condemned  more  and  more. 

The  dramatic  unities.  —  A  subject  that,  for  cen- 
turies, has  awakened  much  discussion  is  whether  the 
drama  should  preserve  the  "  unities  "  of  time,  place, 
and  action.  According  to  Boileau  and  the  neo- 
classicists,  the  events  of  the  play  should  be  confined 
to  twenty-four  hours,  to  one  locality,  and  to  one  single 


1 68  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

plot  or  group  of  activities.  This  rule  was  fairly  gen- 
erally observed  by  French  dramatists  down  to  the 
time  of  Victor  Hugo  and  the  "  romanticists."  Eng- 
hsh  drama  has  paid  but  small  attention  to  the  unities ; 
and  Shakespeare,  in  particular,  has  violated  them  in 
most  of  his  plays.  Winters  Tale  shows  the  Shake- 
spearean tendency  in  an  extreme  form,  and  The  Tempest 
stands  at  the  other  extreme  as  a  solitary  example  of 
preservation  of,  at  any  rate,  the  first  two  of  the 
"  unities."  It  is  a  notable  fact  that  some  of  the 
greatest  of  the  recent  dramatists,  such  as  Ibsen  and 
Strindberg,  have  moved  back  toward  the  unities,  and 
Strindberg  has  even  advocated  and  exemplified  the 
employment  of  a  greatly  reduced  number  of  stage 
characters. 

Unity,  as  was  pointed  out  in  connection  with  the  other 
arts,  always  includes  diversity,  else  it  becomes  monotony. 
In  the  case  of  the  drama,  this  diversity  may  take  various 
forms,  such  as  sub-plots  and  the  interminghng  of  comic  with 
tragic  elements ;  but  more  essential  than  these  is  the  progression 
of  the  action  toward  and  from  a  crisis  of  some  sort.  Almost 
as  much  has  been  written  about  the  "pyramidal"  structure 
of  dramas  as  about  the  pyramidal  structure  of  pictures,  and 
the  main  point  to  notice  is  that,  after  an  "introduction"  or 
an  "exposition,"  there  normally  occurs  an  "initial  incident" 
or  a  series  of  "initial  incidents";  then  a  period  of  "rising 
action,"  "growth,"  or  "complication";  and  then  a  "cHmax," 
"crisis,"  or  "turning  point"  (at  which  one  of  the  contending 
forces  definitely  asserts  its  mastery).  This  central  point  of 
the  drama  is  the  apex  of  the  alleged  "pyramid,"  with  the  slope 


THE  MODERN   DRAMA   AND  THE  NOVEL        169 

on  the  further  side  consisting  of  "falling  action,"  "resolution," 
or  "denouement,"  which  passes  rapidly,  as  a  rule,  to  the  "con- 
clusion" or  "catastrophe."  The  scheme  is  worth  remember- 
ing, for  it  fits  fairly  well  the  cases  of  the  majority  of  dramas, 
although  many  deviations  are  made  in  practice;  the  "crisis," 
for  example,  may  be  nearer  the  beginning  or  (more  com- 
monly) nearer  the  end  of  the  drama  than  is  implied  above. 

For  comedies,  whose  plots  are  usually  slighter  than  those 
of  tragedies,  and  in  which  Avitty  conversation  may  largely 
take  the  place  of  structural  development,  the  above  scheme 
is  rather  too  elaborate.  An  indication  of  this  is  found  in  the 
fact  that  a  three-act  arrangement  is  generally  preferred  to  a 
five-act. 

Variety  in  unity.  —  Variety  may  be  added  to  a 
drama  without  destroying  its  unity  by  the  introduc- 
tion of  characters  or  incidents  that  show  similarity 
or  parallelism  or  marked  contrast.  These  devices 
may  easily  be  employed  in  a  mechanical  way,  and  the 
greater  the  dramatist,  the  subtler  is  his  employment 
of  them.  Dryden,  dissatisfied  with  Shakespeare's 
Tempest,  composed  an  ''  improved  "  version  in  which 
a  male  Miranda  (ignorant  of  the  other  sex)  balanced 
the  real  Miranda. 

Comedy  and  Farce.  —  The  distinction  between  comedy  and 
farce  is  not  commonly  well  recognized.  Comedy  is  essentially 
a  serious  form  of  art  in  the  sense  that  it  deals  with  the  genuine 
problems  of  human  nature,  particularly  with  the  moral  in- 
consistencies and  obtusenesses  of  men.  Bernard  Shaw's 
comedies  are  serious  criticisms  of  life,  as  when,  for  example, 
he  shows  us  the  vivisector  and  the  military  man  each  reproach- 


I70  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

ing  the  other  for  cruelty.'     Farce,  on  the  other  hand,  is  merely 
a  collection  of  absurdly  amusing  situations.' 

The  novel.  —  The  last  century  has  seen  a  great  in- 
crease in  the  popularity  of  the  novel.  The  main  reason 
for  this,  no  doubt,  is  that  the  novel  is  portable  and 
can  be  taken  up  and  put  down  at  a  moment's  notice, 
whereas  no  one  can  carry  about  with  him  a  theater 
and  a  troupe  of  actors.  It  should  be  noted,  however, 
that  in  Germany  thousands  of  plays  are  read,  just  as 
if  they  were  novels,  and  there  is  a  tendency  in  Anglo- 
Saxon  countries  at  the  present  day  to  write  novels 
around  plays  or  base  plays  on  novels. 

Most  of  the  remarks  made  concerning  the  drama 
apply  with  equal  force  to  the  novel.  The  main  dif- 
ference lies  in  the  fact  that  the  novel  can  safely  be 
diffuse,  while  the  drama,  because  of  the  limitations 
of  time  of  performance  to  two  or  three  hours,  must 

^  The  Philanderer. 

'  I  have  no  claim  to  speak  of  the  technical  possibilities  of  the  drama 
of  the  future.  (My  only  three-act  comedy,  Reform  at  the  Board, 
has  never  been  acted,  and  I  am  assured  that  it  is  very,  very  bad 
indeed,  and  that  educational  topics  can  never,  never  be  made  inter- 
esting on  the  stage.)  But  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  the  exploi- 
tation of  the  element  of  time  might  be  carried  further  than  it  is.  For 
example,  is  a  drama  that  works  backward  altogether  impossible 
—  Act  I,  1914;  Act  II,  1900;  Act  III,  1880?  Again,  if  by  some 
mechanical  device  the  future  fate  of  each  character  were  indicated  in 
advance,  —  "the  man  who  will  die  in  the  runaway  accident  to-night," 
"the  woman  who  will  be  betrayed,"  and  so  on, —  their  action  on  the 
stage  might  be  full  of  either  pathos  or  irony  in  a  measure  impossible 
under  present  conditions ! 


THE  MODERN   DRAMA  AND   THE   NOVEL        171 

be  compact  at  all  costs.  Even  novels,  however,  differ 
in  compactness.  It  is  usual,  for  example,  to  distin- 
guish between  those  in  which  the  main  concern  is  in 
the  plot  and  those  in  which  the  main  concern  is  in 
character.  This  distinction  is  only  rough,  as  most 
distinctions  are,  but  clearly  a  novel  like  Wilkie 
Collins's  Moonstone  or  The  Woman  in  White,  in  which 
almost  the  whole  interest  lies  in  skillful  construc- 
tion, is  very  different  from  more  rambling  ones  like 
George  Meredith's  Egoist,  in  which  the  interest  centers 
in  the  mental  struggles  of  Clara  Middleton  and  Sir 
Willoughby  Patterne.  Formerly  there  was  a  type  of 
novel  in  which  the  interest  mainly  lay  in  a  string 
of  exciting  or  amusing  incidents,  — -  Smollett's  Roder- 
ick Random,  for  example ;  but  the  lack  of  unity  or 
structure  —  the  absence  of  a  real  beginning,  climax, 
or  end  —  in  this  type  of  art  has  caused  it  to  go  out  of 
fashion.  In  the  psychological  novel  of  the  George 
Meredith  type,  there  is  sometimes  a  positive  shrink- 
ing from  exciting  incident ;  thus  in  Beauchamp's 
Career  the  flogging  of  Dr.  Shrapnel  is  merely  referred 
to,  whereas  in  a  cruder  type  of  novel  it  would  receive 
a  whole  chapter  to  itself. 

The  deus  ex  machina  of  the  old  Greek  drama  finds 
its  place  in  the  modern  novel  in  the  form  of  lucky  or 
unlucky  accidents.  Thus  Meredith  solves  all  diffi- 
culties in  the  novel  above  mentioned  by  drowning 
the  hero,  while  Thomas  Hardy,  in  working  up  his 


172  THE  LESSON   IN  APPRECUTION 

case  against  the  President  of  the  Immortals,  in  Tess 
and  in  Jude  the  Obscure  introduces  coincidence  and 
accident  over  and  over  again.  Whenever  the  sky 
seems  to  be  brightening  for  the  baffled  hero  or  heroine, 
we  may  be  sure  that  a  disaster  will  come  before 
long,  some  strange  miscarriage  or  miscalculation, 
some  delay,  some  unaccountable  change  of  sentiment. 

In  the  novel,  the  author  is  able  to  introduce  his  own 
personality  in  the  form  of  comments  and  opinions. 
These  will  add  to  the  length  and  diffuseness  of  the 
novel  and  serve  to  distinguish  it  still  further  from 
the  drama. 

The  treatment  of  the  novel  in  schools.  —  The  way 
to  make  use  of  a  novel  for  educational  purposes  must 
depend  upon  its  nature. 

A  detective  or  mystery  story  stands  on  the  plane 
not  of  appreciation  but  of  intellection,  and  its  treat- 
ment should  follow  scientific  rather  than  aesthetic 
laws.  There  is  a  large  field  of  work  here  remaining 
educationally  unexplored ;  I  have  no  doubt  that,  be- 
cause of  its  compactness  and  vividness,  the  detective 
story  could  be  extensively  employed  for  the  purpose 
of  introducing  a  class  to  the  meaning  of  such  words  as 
"  hypothesis,"  "  deduction,"  etc.,  and  to  a  realization 
of  the  need  for  improving  the  tools  of  thought  gen- 
erally. But,  as  already  said,  the  detective  story  is 
remote  from  the  realm  of  aesthetic  appreciation.^ 
'  The  present  writer  is  planning  a  volume  on  this  subject. 


THE   MODERN    DRAMA   AND   THE   NOVEL        1 73 

The  problem  element  in  novels.  —  Those  portions 
of  novels  that  are  akin  to  the  detective  story  in  being 
purely  problematic,  intellectual,  or  informational  may 
be  treated  in  the  same  way  as  science  or  information 
is  treated.  They  can  be  analyzed,  summarized, 
argued  about,  made  the  subject  of  factual  questions, 
and  so  forth ;  and  thus,  particularly  if  they  are  of  the 
historical  kind,  can  undoubtedly  be  made  valuable 
auxiliaries  to  the  more  formal  school  instruction. 
Indeed,  there  are  very  few  school  lessons  that  cannot 
receive  elucidation  from  fiction,  and  every  school 
should  have  its  catalogue  of  auxihary  literature 
arranged  according  to  themes.  Not  in  every  case,  of 
course,  should  pupils  be  directed  to  read  a  whole  book  ; 
sometimes  a  single  chapter  or  even  a  paragraph  will 
be  adequate ;  but  this  limited  amount  of  reading, 
though  all  that  is  required  for  the  immediate  purpose, 
may  easily  lead  the  pupil  to  an  extended  perusal  of  the 
entire  book  or  will  at  least  make  him  familiar  with  it 
by  name. 

The  information  extracted  from  novels  should,  to 
some  extent  at  least,  be  verified  by  an  appeal  to  more 
authoritative  books,  and  if  the  author  is  found  to  have 
distorted  or  omitted  very  pertinent  facts,  an  attempt 
should  be  made  to  decide  how  far  he  is  culpable.  A 
certain  amount  of  distortion  is  almost  inevitable  in 
art,  though  in  the  novel  there  is  less  excuse  for  it  than 
in  drama  and  painting. 


174  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

The  more  inward  and  psychological  a  novel  is  the 
more  carefully  should  the  characters  be  studied  from 
the  standpoint  of  their  probability.  Is  it  natural  for 
so-and-so  to  act  as  he  did  ?  The  oscillations  of  mood 
and  conviction  which  Hardy  introduces,  with  tragic 
effect,  in  his  two  gloomiest  novels,  Tess  of  the 
D^Urheroilles  and  Jude  the  Obscure  —  are  they  natural, 
are  they  likely,  or  are  they  likely  to  have  taken  place 
quite  in  the  diabolically  fateful  way  that  the  novehst 
represents  ?  No,  says  some  one ;  yes,  says  some  one 
else ;  people  have  been  bludgeoned  by  fate  as  remorse- 
lessly as  Tess  and  Jude :  there  was  Beethoven,  there 
was  some  one  I  knew  who  .  .  . 

Again,  a  considerable  if  not  a  maximum  amount  of 
formal  training  value  should  be  extracted  from  the 
novels  that  are  studied.  Words  that  are  unfamiliar 
or  difficult  to  soell  should  be  collected  in  notebooks  and 
subsequently  embodied  in  composition  exercises.  A 
phrase  that  is  peculiarly  apt  in  style,  a  metaphor  that 
is  exceptionally  powerful  in  its  originality  or  appro- 
priateness, should  be  commented  on  and  be  made  the 
basis  of  attempts  at  imitation.  The  practice  of  teach- 
ing parsing  and  analysis  has  largely  gone  out  of  fashion 
(in  England  at  least)  as  there  is  no  evidence  that  it  has 
improved  the  pupils'  knowledge  of  English  or  taught 
them  to  think  better ;  but  if  used  in  direct  connection 
with  the  reading  of  a  book,  parsing  and  analysis  may 
have    some    value ;     an    obscure    sentence    may    be 


THE   MODERN   DRAMA  AND  THE  NOVEL        175 

straightened  out,  a  misleading  word  be  classified  as 
a  verb  instead  of  a  noun,  and  so  on.  The  teacher, 
however,  will  have  to  be  careful  to  steer  between 
giving  too  little  and  giving  too  much  attention  to 
these  formal  matters. 

The  aesthetic  element  in  novels.  —  It  is  clear  from 
what  has  been  said  that  so  large  and  complex  a  form 
of  art  as  the  novel  appeals  to  other  faculties  than  that 
of  appreciation.  But  when  a  passage  or  chapter 
occurs  in  which  the  aesthetic  factor  is  prominent,  the 
teacher  should  take  care  to  observe  the  rules  empha- 
sized in  the  earlier  pages  of  this  book.  Several 
chapters  in  The  Ordeal  of  Richard  Feverel,  by  Meredith, 
are  lyric  in  their  beauty,  and  should  be  presented  to  a 
class  through  ear  rather  than  eye,  if,  indeed,  they  are 
to  be  presented  at  all  to  the  youthful  readers  in  our 
schools.  Generally,  too,  when  a  chapter  embodies 
something  quintessential  which  can  be  easily  lost  or 
debased  by  commonplace  treatment,  the  teacher 
should  take  the  chapter  out  of  the  hands  of  the  class 
and  make  sure  that  the  first  impression  is  supremely 
good ;  in  other  words,  he  should  read  the  passage  him- 
self in  his  very  finest  style. 

The  art  of  story-telling.  —  In  connection  with  the 
use  of  novels  in  school  the  question  arises  as  to  how 
far  the  story  of  the  novel  should  be  known  in  advance. 
In  the  case  of  a  mystery  story  (and  as  already  said, 
I  think  the  neglect  of  the  mystery  story  by  education- 


176  THE   LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

ists  is  a  great  mistake)  it  is  obvious  that  the  story 
should  not  be  known  in  advance ;  every  art  of  the 
hypothesis  maker  or  detective  must  be  exploited  before 
the  mystery  is  solved,  and  this  exploitation,  of  course, 
is  impossible  if  the  solution  has  once  been  supplied. 
In  other  cases,  however,  it  may  be  advisable  to  destroy 
the  mere  story  interest  in  a  novel  in  order  to  allow  of 
concentration  upon  character,  detail,  or  style;  the 
teacher  may  therefore  tell  the  story  in  advance. 

The  art  of  story-telling  is  one  in  which  all  people  do 
not  excel ;  probably  women  are  better  at  it  than  men, 
though  this  apparent  superiority  may  be  merely  the 
result  of  practice.  In  any  case,  most  story-tellers 
will  need  to  prepare  carefully  the  story  they  intend  to 
employ  and  particularly  to  see  that  all  necessary 
details  are  given  in  the  right  order,  so  that  they  will 
not  need  to  say,  "  Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  ..." 
Each  specific  point  may  advisably  be  jotted  down 
on  paper  in  order  to  insure  this  consecutiveness.  A 
few  striking  climaxes,  illustrations,  etc.,  may  also  be 
planned  out  in  advance.  Beyond  this,  however,  the 
teacher  may  not  need  to  go  in  the  matter  of  prepara- 
tion. Unforeseen  things  (suggestions  from  children, 
etc.)  are  sure  to  happen  in  the  course  of  the  story- 
telling, thus  compelling  the  best-laid  schemes  to  be 
partly  set  aside.  Further,  the  teacher  is  sure  to  think 
of  new  points  and  illustrations  as  the  story  progresses ; 
they  often  come,  indeed,  with  a  flash,  particularly 


THE  MODERN   DRAMA   AND  THE  NOVEL        177 

if  the  emotional  temperature  of  the  lesson  is  high. 
Over  and  over  again  in  conducting  a  lesson  on  litera- 
ture or  history,  illustrations  have  suddenly  occurred 
to  me  which,  if  I  had  been  seated  in  a  lonely  study 
planning  out  lesson  notes,  would  have  failed  to  come  at 
my  most  urgent  invitation.  This  subject  of  emotional 
temperature  is  clearly  of  the  greatest  importance  in 
connection  with  all  lessons  and  it  concerns  the  pupils 
as  well  as  the  teacher. 

The  best  lessons  in  the  art  of  story-telling  may  per- 
haps be  learnt  from  the  great  literary  story-tellers.  For 
producing  effects  of  a wesomeness  few  have  ever  excelled 
Edgar  Allan  Poe,  and  an  inexperienced  teacher  might 
very  well  analyze  the  process  adopted  in  The  Fall  oj 
the  House  of  Usher  and  similar  tales.  Changes  in 
the  tone  and  speed  of  the  voice  are,  of  course,  of  the 
greatest  importance  so  as  to  suggest  significances, 
coming  developments,  etc.  Something  corresponding 
to  the  "  positive  preparation  "  of  Chapter  IV  may 
also  be  desirable  in  many  cases,  in  order  that  expecta- 
tion may  be  aroused  or  some  key  fact  receive  its  due 
prominence. 


N 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE   POLEMICS  OF  APPRECIATION 

The  present  book  ought  not  to  be  brought  to  a 
close  without  a  reference  to  some  of  the  controversial 
aspects  of  the  topic  under  discussion.  Many  good 
teachers,  long  before  the  "  appreciation  lesson  "  was 
christened,  taught  their  pupils  to  see  beauty  in 
poetry  and  in  painting,  in  music  and  in  sculpture. 
But  the  recognition  of  "  appreciations  "  as  a  desirable 
outcome  of  teaching  and  the  recognition  of  a  school 
exercise  distinctively  different  from  other  exercises 
as  a  means  of  insuring  this  outcome  are  comparatively 
recent  developments   in   educational   theory. 

The  genesis  of  the  appreciation  lesson.  —  Professor 
J.  J.  Findlay  appears  to  have  been  the  first  educa- 
tional writer  to  recognize  the  need  of  a  specific  lesson 
in  appreciation.^  Professor  Strayer,  following  this 
suggestion,  devoted  a  chapter  of  his  Teaching  Process 
to  this  lesson  type.  In  1909  Mr.  Millward  in  the 
pages  of  a  teacher's  textbook  ^  which  I  edited  put  in 
a  word  for  "  singing  by  ear."     In  1910  Mr.  Steward 

*  Principles  of  Class  Teaching,  p.  361  and  passim. 

*  The  Primary  Curriculum. 

178 


THE   POLEMICS  OF   APPRECIATION  170 

Macpherson  published  his  book  on  Music  and  its 
Appreciation,  and  in  1910-1911  lectured  to  a  large 
number  of  London  teachers  on  the  subject.  Similar 
lectures  were  given  by  Professor  Selwyn  Image  on 
the  appreciation  of  art.  In  191 1  came  Stanley  Hall's 
Educational  Problems  with  an  important  chapter  on 
the  teaching  of  music  from  the  point  of  view  of 
appreciation,  emphasizing  the  emplo>Tnent  of  the 
pianola  and  the  phonograph.  In  the  autumn  of  1912 
the  present  writer  gave  in  London  a  lecture  —  the 
basis  of  the  present  book  —  on  the  "  Lesson  in  Appre- 
ciation," the  most  novel  feature  of  which  was  the 
employment  of  the  Wagner  passage  quoted  in  Chapter 
II,  and  the  suggestion  that  metaphors  and  similes 
should  be  prepared  for  long  in  advance  of  the  poetry 
lesson  proper.  In  1912-1913  appeared  M.  Cousinet's 
articles  in  VEducateur  Moderne.  In  19 13  came 
Professor  De  Garmo's  Msthetic  Education. 

The  idea  of  a  lesson  in  appreciation  has  thus  been 
of  rapid  and  quite  recent  growth,  and  no  single  indi- 
vidual can  be  held  responsible  for  its  inception.  Edu- 
cators in  widely  separated  countries  have  been  grop- 
ing in  a  certain  direction  and  at  last  an  idea  has 
appeared. 

A  short  account  of  my  own  conversion  may  here  be  added 
as  it  is  probably  typical  of  the  conversion  of  others.  I  started 
like  other  English  teachers  from  certain  traditional  and  per- 
nicious notions  about  "drawing  out"  knowledge  from  vacuous 


l8o  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

minds  —  notions  entirely  fatal  to  the  teaching  of  appreciation. 
Then  came,  like  a  gleam  of  light,  the  Herbartian  maxim, 
"Action  springs  out  of  the  circle  of  thought"  —  much  the 
same,  in  its  meaning,  as  the  scholastic  Nil  est  in  intellectu  quod 
non  prius  jiierit  in  sensu '  —  and  it  forbade  me  twelve  or  fifteen 
years  ago  to  regard  the  principle  of  developtnent  from  within 
as  the  only  or  the  last  word  of  educational  philosophy.  Then 
came  an  observational  acquaintance  with  a  misunderstood  and 
easily  misunderstandable  Froebelianism  —  a  teacher  encouraging 
children  to  play  at  "cobbling"  when  they  had  never  once  in 
their  lives  seen  a  cobbler  at  work,  and  so  on.  I  made,  too,  an 
observational  acquaintance  with  the  methods  of  teaching 
"recitation"  in  senior  schools,  and  slowly  came  to  realize  that 
they  were  laborious,  niggling  methods  destructive  of  all  sense 
of  artistic  totality.  Gradually  I  arrived  at  the  formula,  so 
simple  and  obvious,  and  yet  so  useful  and  illuminating,  though, 
again,  not  the  last  word  on  the  subject,  "Impression  must 
precede  expression."  Then,  later  still,  I  began,  as  a  listener, 
to  make  the  acquaintance  of  orchestral  music,  and  grave  doubts 
arose,  in  consequence,  as  to  the  usual  methods  of  teaching  both 
instrumental  and  vocal  music.  Convinced  at  last,  I  discovered 
that  others  had  arrived  at  similar  convictions  and  that  the 
time  was  ripe  for  a  change  in  school  methods. 

The   social   need   of   training   in   appreciation.  — 

Simultaneously  with  this  growth  of  purely  pedagogical 
opinion  has  occurred  the  triumph  of  the  cinemato- 
graph. Faced  by  this  triumph  —  so  different  from 
any  of  which  education  itself  can  boast  —  the  educa- 
tionist stands  wondering  and  undecided.  Is  he 
humbly  to  adopt  the  cinematograph,  either  in  a  port- 
1  Nothing  is  in  the  intellect  which  was  not  first  in  the  senses. 


THE   POLEMICS  OF  APPRECIATION  l8l 

able  form  within  the  school  building  or  at  certain 
centers  where  blameless  films  will  be  shown  to  chil- 
dren during  school  hours  and  less  blameless  ones  to 
adults  in  the  evening?  It  seems  at  the  present 
moment  almost  as  if  he  will,  and  undoubtedly  the 
cinematograph  can  be  usefully  employed  for  educa- 
tional purposes,  particularly  in  connection  with 
geography,  nature  study,  engineering,  and  other 
very  objective  branches  of  study.  Indeed,  even  liter- 
ature can  be  made  to  benefit  from  it,  if,  as  is  sometimes 
done,  the  great  stories  of  Homer,  Vergil,  and  Victor 
Hugo  are  told  upon  the  screen.  Broadly  speaking, 
however,  as  the  cinematograph  is  avowedly  or  sup- 
posedly imitative,  it  cannot,  or  does  not  at  the  present, 
supply  high  forms  of  art,  for  high  forms  of  art  go  far 
beyond  imitation.  The  question  arises,  therefore, 
whether  the  school  ought  not  to  look  in  other  direc- 
tions than  the  cinematograph,  or,  at  any  rate,  while 
not  ignoring  it,  ought  not  to  take  care  that  more  per- 
manent and  significant  forms  of  art  receive  their  due 
attention.  There  is  a  distinct  danger  that  the  very 
word  *'  picture  "  may,  in  a  few  years'  time  from  now, 
have  merely  a  cinematograph  reference ;  the  youth 
who  is  "  going  to  see  the  pictures  "  goes  not  to  the 
Tate  Gallery  or  the  Metropolitan  Museum,  but  to  the 
nearest ' '  Movy  Palace. ' '  The  whole  problem  has  been 
recently  stated  so  lucidly  by  M.  Cousinet  that  his  ex- 
position will,  for  a  while,  be  followed  point  by  point. 


1 82  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

M.  Cousinet,  in  his  1912-1913  article,  showed  that 
France  had  special  reasons  for  encouraging  and  im- 
proving aesthetic  taste,  inasmuch  as  that  country's 
economic  preeminence  in  the  arts  of  architecture, 
furniture  making,  jewelry,  wood  carving,  and  house 
decoration  was  being  gravely  threatened,  since  the 
public  was  becoming  content  with  cheap  imitations 
of  older  works,  and  artists  were  being  given  over, 
when  not  to  sheer  imitation,  to  a  straining  after  mere 
eccentricity.  Foreigners,  less  encumbered  by  an 
artistic  tradition,  showed  happier  invention  and  the 
results  were  seen  in  a  largely  increased  production  of 
foreign  work.  It  was  for  economic  reasons  like  this 
that,  in  1906,  a  propaganda  was  commenced  in  favor 
of  education  in  design  based  on  observation  of  real 
things  and  against  the  practice  of  mere  copying,  some- 
times the  copying  even  of  colorless  and  Hfeless  plaster 
models. 

The  gulf  between  modern  artists  and  the  masses. 
—  But,  he  adds,  there  were  other  influences  at  work, 
leading  the  educators  not  only  of  France,  but  of  other 
countries,  to  see  the  need  for  esthetic  training  in 
primary  schools. 

The  fundamental  trouble,  M.  Cousinet  continued, 
was  the  progressive  separation  of  artists  from  the 
public.  The  results  of  this  separation  were,  and  are, 
that  the  taste  of  the  latter  is  becoming  more  and  more 
base  while  that  of  the  former  is  becoming  more  and 


THE  POLEMICS  OF  APPRECIATION  183 

more  refined  and  remote,  with  increasing  stress  ever 
being  laid  by  them  on  complicated  and  esoteric  tech- 
nique, clearly  typified  by  the  lengths  to  which  the  Fu- 
turist movement  has  gone.  Formerly  artists  were  in 
contact  with  the  public,  who  were  the  only  art  critics. 
But  as  states  grew  larger  and  more  democratic  there 
grew  up  a  demand  among  the  half-educated  public 
for  an  art  witliin  their  comprehension.  In  trying 
to  please  this  vast  multitude  of  people  possessing  very 
varied  degrees  of  culture  and  many  of  whom  desired 
only  some  immediate  sensuous  satisfaction  —  a  multi- 
tude suffering  from  overwork,  hurry,  alcoholism,  from 
the  pubKcity  given  to  crimes,  from  overcrowding,  nerv- 
ous strain,  and  the  like  —  artists  could  supply  only 
emotional  excitement  of  an  intense  kind.  We  see 
to  what  a  level  public  taste  has  descended  if  we  study 
the  cinematograph,  with  its  mere  shaking  of  the 
nerves  by  laughter  or  fear.  And,  an  American 
might  add,  we  find  another  extreme  in  the  hide- 
ous creations  of  the  "  comic  supplements  "  of  the 
Sunday  newspapers. 

In  all  arts  the  separation  of  the  artist  from  the  public 
has  become  pronounced,  even  the  magnificent  effort 
of  Berlioz  to  create  a  music  for  the  people  having 
failed,  and  the  modern  musician  having  become  more 
and  more  esoteric,  more  and  more  a  worshiper  of 
*'  art  for  art's  sake."  Thus  art,  losing  contact  with 
social  life,  has  become  thin  and  etiolated,  and  even 


1 84  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

literature  and  music  have  come  to  consist  of  tiny, 
exquisite,  insignificant  pieces.  There  exists  nothing 
to-day  between  the  two  extremes  of  subtlety  and  gross- 
ness.  Hence  has  arisen  the  demand  that  a  minimum 
of  aesthetic  education  should  be  given  to  all  people 
in  the  state.  In  this  way  alone  can  the  public  be 
made  to  appreciate  higher  things,  while,  as  a  further 
result,  artists  themselves  may  be  brought  into  closer 
contact  with  life,  thereby  having  their  taste  enriched 
while  that  of  the  pubhc  is  being  "  refined."  "  An  age 
of  altruism  should  be  able  to  insure  to  the  artist 
suflScient  culture  in  his  audience  so  that  his  language 
be  understood  and  that  his  speech  be  not  reckoned 
as  an  uncertain  sound."  ^ 

But  we  must  not  mistake,  M.  Cousinet  goes  on  to 
say,  the  purpose  of  the  present  movement.  We  do  not 
expect  to  make  all  people  artists  or  even  enhghtened 
amateurs,  who  prefer  Beethoven  to  Manon,  Rodin 
to  Pradier,  an  etching  of  Jourdain  to  a  Hthograph,  or 
Dominique  to  Roman  d'un  Jeune  Homme  Pauvre.  The 
aim  is  to  unite  afresh  the  artists  and  the  public ;  in  fact, 
to  prepare  a  public  for  future  artists  by  habituating 
people  to  see  things  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 
beautiful.  ^Esthetic  admiration  is  not  at  all  a  natural 
senti?nent;  what  takes  the  place  of  it  is  generally  the 
immediate  satisfaction  of  familiar  things ;  the  thrill  of 
melodrama   which   demands   no   effort   of    thought; 

^Pictorial  Composition,  H.  R.  Poore,  p.  226. 


THE  POLEMICS  OF   APPRECIATION  1 85 

musical  comedy;  coarsely  colored  pictures;  and 
crude  melody  whose  banal  phrases  can  be  easily  fore- 
seen. 

For  real  appreciation,  as  distinct  from  the  love  of 
these  things,  there  must  be  a  certain  respect  for  the 
work  of  art,  a  desire  to  penetrate  to  its  meaning,  a 
contemplative  state,  prolonged  for  some  minutes. 
There  must  be  a  suspension,  for  the  while,  of  the  ego- 
istic "  will  to  live,"  there  must  be  self-forgetfulness, 
union  with  the  thought  of  the  artist,  a  state  somewhat 
analogous  to  the  "  catalepsy  "  in  which  Hindus  put 
themselves  but  distinct  from  it  in  that  the  mind  is 
still  active.  In  this  state  a  great  number  of  ideas 
group  themselves  together,  associations  are  formed 
and  reenforce  admiration  with  a  crowd  of  intellectual 
elements    (interpretations,    memories,    comparisons). 

Arguments  against  the  attempt  to  "  teach  "  appre- 
ciation. —  So  far  M.  Cousinet.  But  the  condition 
of  educational  theory  in  England,  at  any  rate,  is  so 
unfortunate  that  every  unfamihar  proposal  has  at 
once  to  face  objections  of  a  more  or  less  childish  kind. 
Sound,  philosophical  objections  are  rarely  or  never 
forthcoming ;  we  are  not  philosophers ;  we  thoroughly 
despise  clear  thinking  and  we  have  a  mute  horror 
of  ultimate  issues:  but  we  are  not,  in  consequence 
of  these  facts,  saved  from  "  theory  "  and  "  dogma  " ; 
on  the  contrary,  we  are  slaves  to  them,  but  slaves  to 
claptrap  theory  and  cant  dogma.     The  proposal  that 


1 86  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

there  shall  be  a  "  lesson  in  appreciation  "  may  there- 
fore be  received  by  the  educational  world  in  exactly 
the  same  way  as  the  proposal  that  there  shall  be 
lessons  in  morals  or  civics.  We  shall  be  told  that 
"  beauty  cannot  be  taught  "  (just  as  "  virtue  cannot 
be  taught  "),  that  the  beauty  of  things  is  learned 
"  indirectly,"  or  "  incidentally,"  or  "  unconsciously." 

So  far  as  there  is  a  vital  motive  behind  these  con- 
tentions it  will  be  found  to  resolve  itself  mainly  into 
mental  inertia  on  the  part  of  the  teacher,  into  an 
unwillingness  to  see  the  school  time-table  (already 
"  overcrowded  ")  disturbed,  and  a  fear  that  the 
learning  of  a  new  technique  will  be  rendered  necessary. 

Now  the  first  objection  has  already  been  anticipated 
and  refuted  in  Chapter  I.  Whatever  the  lesson  in 
appreciation  is  to  be  it  must  not  be  toilsomely  labo- 
rious. There  is  something  wrong  about  our  lessons  in 
music  and  poetry  if  this  element  of  toil,  either  for 
teacher  or  for  pupil,  is  allowed  to  intrude.  The 
truth  is,  We  have  never  realized  the  significance  and 
the  Junction  of  appreciation;  we  have  confused  it  with 
technique,  and  through  this  confusion  we  have  destroyed 
appreciation. 

Such  categories  as  "  thoroughness,"  "  tests,"  "  re- 
sults," and  the  Uke  have  no  place  whatever  in  the 
philosophy  of  appreciation.  In  other  parts  of  school 
philosophy,  they  have  a  place ;  we  want  more  "  thor- 
oughness," more  exacting  "  tests,"  more  satisfactory 


THE  POLEMICS  OF   APPRECIATION  187 

"  results,"    here    and    there ;     with    arithmetic,  for 
example,    and   enunciation,    and   perhaps  reasoning. 
But  these  things  and  the  lesson  in  appreciation  are 
as  wide  as  the  poles  asunder.     Arithmetic,  whether 
higher  or  lower  than  appreciation,  is  fundamentally 
different  from  it.     Now,  in  the  average  school,  the 
music  or  poetry  lesson  is  not,  in  point  of  fact,  widely 
different  from  the  arithmetic  lesson,  and  the  strain 
and  strenuousness  of  the  latter  largely  belong  to  the 
former;    it  would  therefore  not  be  surprising  if  the 
teacher  stood  somewhat  suspicious  before  the  proposed 
"  lesson  in  appreciation."     But  he  misunderstands. 
If  there  is  to  be  strain  in  this  lesson,  it  will  have  to 
be  a  very  different  kind  of  strain  from  that  which 
gives  "  neurasthenia  "  to  teachers.     And  if  ever  the 
dream  of  an  imposing  school  ritual  (or  Hturgy)  should 
come  true,  —  a  ritual  of  songs,  poems,  and  ceremonies, 
—  the  present  argument  will  be  further  strengthened, 
for  no  one  has  ever  objected  that  a  ritual  produces 
worry   or   neurasthenia;    it  is   a   reposeful,   routine 
thing. 

Not  only  do  teachers  commonly  complain  of  an 
"  overcrowded  curriculum,"  they  complain  with  even 
greater  bitterness  of  the  large  size  of  their  classes. 
Indeed  any  reference  to  the  latter  question  at  a  teachers' 
meeting  in  England  calls  forth  applause  that  now 
verges  on  the  automatic.  Yet  it  is  not  difficult  to 
show  that,  for  some  subjects,  large  classes  are  an  ad- 


1 88  THE   LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

vantage,  inasmuch  as,  in  small  classes,  enthusiasm 
is  not  easy  to  work  up.  Among  these  subjects  are 
those  that  come  under  the  present  formula.  I  should 
not  be  surprised  to  find  lessons  in  appreciation  being 
given,  in  the  near  future,  to  classes  of  a  hundred  or 
more  pupils ;  and  certainly  a  stately  and  imposing 
school  ritual  will  be  a  thing  for  large,  not  for  small, 
groups  of  children.  In  short,  the  very  idea  of  appre- 
ciation is  of  something  widely  different  from  "  a 
lesson  "  in  the  usual  sense. 

And  now  to  the  second  objection,  the  pseudo  or 
claptrap  objection  that  "  beauty  cannot  be  taught." 

This  may  mean  that  the  teacher  can  take  no  sys- 
tematic steps  to  enhance  the  child's  powers  of  aesthetic 
appreciation.  If  this  is  the  meaning  of  the  state- 
ment, its  refutation  has  already  been  supplied  in 
Chapters  I-V,  where,  in  connection  with  what  is 
called  "  Negative  Preparation,"  it  has  been  shown 
that  the  teacher  can  do  much  to  remove  obstacles 
to  appreciation ;  and,  in  connection  with  what  is 
called  "  Positive  Preparation,"  it  has  been  shown 
that  he  can  do  much  to  supply  the  very  machinery 
for  appreciation  itself.  The  nature  of  that  machinery 
was  briefly  indicated  above  in  the  quotation  from 
M.  Cousinet ;  ideas  have  to  "  group  themselves 
together.  ..."  Now  this  machinery  is  quite  within 
the  reach  of  educational  influences. 

Evidences  of  the  need  for  aesthetic  guidance.  —  If, 


THE  POLEMICS  OF  APPRECIATION  1 89 

however,  the  statement  means  that  every  one,  includ- 
ing every  child,  perceives  beauty  without  any  assist- 
ance from  educational  guides,  such  as  teachers,  the 
statement  is  again  wildly  untrue.  "  ^Esthetic  appre- 
ciation is  not  a  natural  sentiment." 

Some  children  were  once  standing  before  Holman 
Hunt's  Light  of  the  World  and  speculating  as  to  the 
meaning  of  the  figure  (Christ)  it  contains.  "  Who's 
that?  "  "  Why,  don't  yer  see?  It's  the  devil  and 
that's  the  hole  he's  come  out  of."  ^ 

This  grotesque  misinterpretation  m.ight  be  paral- 
leled by  countless  others,  individual  and  racial.  The 
grandeurs  and  the  beauties  of  the  Alps  and  the 
Highlands  pass  unnoticed  for  generations;  then 
some  one  brings  the  discerning  eye  and  removes  the 
scales  from  eyes  that  are  not  discerning;  what  was 
formerly  the  spiritual  wealth  of  one  becomes  the 
currency  of  all.  This  truth  applies  not  only  to 
aesthetic  matters  but  to  moral,  and  our  controver- 
siaHsts  usually  ignore  it  as  much  in  the  one  case  as 
in  the  other.  To  people  who  imagine  that  the  child 
perceives  moral  and  aesthetic  principles  by  "  a  rapid 
sort  of  first  intellection,"  as  Dr.  Stanley  Hall  sarcas- 
tically calls  it,^  the  existence  of  guide  books  to  picture 
galleries    and  of    annotated  programs  to  orchestral 

*  Episode  narrated  on  the  authority  of  Mr.  Sharman,  a  well-known 
London  teacher. 
2  Youth,  p.  357. 


igo  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

concerts  must  prove  a  puzzling  phenomenon.  As 
often  happens,  however,  in  professional  matters,  the 
outsider  may  see  truths  which  the  insider,  hypnotized 
by  professional  claptrap,  does  not  see.  At  any 
meeting  of  teachers  or  educational  officials  it  would 
be  easy  to  raise  a  cheer  by  proclaiming  that  the  child 
"  unconsciously  "  perceives  beauty  or  goodness  and 
by  protesting  against  systematic  attempts  to  educate 
the  aesthetic  or  moral  judgment.  But  meanwhile 
guide  books  exist,  and  from  one  of  the  best  of  them  a 
few  quotations  will  here  be  given. 

"Why,"  says  Mr.  E.  T.  Cooke  in  his  Popular  Handbook  to 
the  British  Museum,  "is  any  guide  necessary  at  all?  The  ob- 
jection has  high  authority :  — 

"  '  There  needs  no  words  nor  terms  precise 
The  paltry  jargon  of  the  marble  mart. 
When  pedantry  gulls  folly :  we  have  eyes.' 

"We  all  have  eyes,  but  we  have  not  all  the  poet's  eye.  .  .  . 
The  trained  eye,  assisted  by  sympathy  and  imagination, 
pierces  through  all  obstacles  to  the  true  vision ;  but  there  are 
many  of  us  .  .  .  whom  a  first  and  uninstructed  survey  of  the 
Greek  marbles  in  a  museum  leaves  cold,  careless,  bewildered. 
I  do  not  think,  therefore,  that  it  is  entirely  superfluous  ...  to 
give  simple  explanations  of  the  nature  of  their  excellence ;  to 
suggest  to  the  eye  what  it  should  see;  to  cite  appreciations 
by  competent  authorities  of  past  and  present  times."  ' 

To  Mr.  Cooke's  statement  the  man  in  the  street 
will  assent ;   it  is  only  the  academic  educationist  who 

^  Popular  Handbook,  pp.  xi-xii. 


THE  POLEMICS  OF  APPRECIATION  19I 

will  claim  that  the  child  should  not  be  "  stuffed  " 
with  the  opinions  of  other  people  or  told  what  to  see ; 
it  is  the  academic  educationist  who  retains  the  "  old 
superstition  that  children  have  innate  faculties  of 
such  a  finished  sort  that  they  flash  up  and  grasp  the 
principles  of  things  "  ;  ^  it  is  he  who  fails  to  recognize 
that  "  our  best  thoughts  and  feelings  never  get  into 
currency,  for  lack  of  the  bullion  of  words  out  of  which 
they  must  be  minted  "  ;  Mt  is  he,  in  short,  who  is,  too 
often,  the  enemy  of  any  systematic  education  in 
beauty   and  goodness. 

Perhaps  our  controversialist  may  find  some  comfort  on  pages 
14-15.  For  there  an  attack  is  made  upon  expounding  and  ex- 
plaining works  of  art  at  the  moment  of  their  presentation. 
"The  very  thing  !"  our  critic  may  exclaim ;  "just  what  I  have 
always  advocated !  Let  beauty  exert  its  own  influence  on 
the  child  undisturbed  by  the  teacher's  comments!"  Well, 
if  the  poHcy  outHned  in  the  present  work  is  the  one  that  aca- 
demic opponents  of  aesthetic  or  moral  education  have  always 
been  modestly  advocating,  if  they  have  not,  in  point  of  fact, 
been  obsessed  by  "old  superstitions"  but  have,  all  the  time, 
been  advocates  of  a  forward  movement  in  matters  of  morals 
and  aesthetics  they  will,  no  doubt,  welcome  this  book  with 
open  arms. 

I,  at  any  rate,  beheve  emphatically  in  teaching 
morals  and  teaching  aesthetics,  and  not  in  leaving 
them  to  chance.  All  the  available  psychology  points 
in  the  former  direction.     There  is  ample  scientific 

1  Stanley  HaU,  Youth,  p.  357.  » Meredith,  The  Egoist,  Ch.  li. 


192  THE  LESSON   IN  APPRECIATION 

evidence  that  the  ear,  for  example,  can  be  directly 
trained  to  recognize  absolute  as  well  as  relative  pitch, 
and  that  the  other  senses  are  also  highly  educable. 
But  more  than  this.  The  higher  and  more  complex 
forms  of  appreciation  can  be,  so  to  speak,  manufac- 
tured and  built  up  by  processes  of  teaching.  Though 
some  souls  will  prove  more  responsive  than  others 
to  the  teaching  and  though  the  process  of  building  up 
aesthetic  appreciation  is  one  that  demands  more  skill 
and  imagination  in  the  teacher  than  many  other  school 
processes,  beauty  can  be  taught  and  therefore  ought 
to  be  taught. 

The  doctrine  of  "inner  growth."  — To  all  this, 
even  when  amplified  and  illustrated,  an  easy  retort 
can  be  made  in  the  terms  of  Wordsworth's  poem. 
Are  we  always  to  be  meddling  with  the  child  and 
assuming  that  "nothing  of  itself  will  come"?  Is 
not  the  "  aesthetic  sense  "  a  plant  of  delicate  growth? 
Are  there  not  deep  forces  at  work  in  the  child  ? 

Of  course.  The  school  is  only  one  agency  among 
many.  The  environment  counts  for  much ;  inner 
development  counts  for  much ;  or,  rather,  inner 
development  reacting  on  environment  and  being  in 
its  turn  affected  by  it  and  thus  becoming  experience, 
counts  for  much.  A  great  deal  of  this  is  quite  beyond 
the  teacher's  power  of  control.  Further,  in  the  present 
feeble  state  of  the  psychology  and  pedagogy  of  appre- 
ciation, we  can  easily  make  mistakes ;    in  the  very 


THE  POLEMICS  OF  APPRECIATION  1 93 

enthusiasm  of  our  conversion  to  "  appreciative " 
methods  we  may  be  oversubtle,  overelaborate,  over- 
emphatic,  or  what  not.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to 
make  such  admissions ;  they  are  so  obvious.  But 
they  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  immediate  question. 
The  school  is  only  one  agency  out  of  many ;  still  we 
must  employ  it.  If  we  are  morally  certain  to  make 
mistakes,  we  must  learn,  gradually,  to  make  none. 
Too  often,  these  Wordsworthian  objections  resolve 
themselves  into  apologies  for  doing  nothing,  or,  at 
best,  for  allowing  beautiful  pictures  to  hang  disre- 
garded on  our  schoolroom  walls  and  for  allowing 
beautiful  melodies  to  pass  without  a  word  of  helpful 
comment. 

The  by-product  theory.  —  But  the  opponents  of 
the  specific  teaching  of  appreciation  have  yet  another 
argument.  They  will  say,  "  Yes,  we  must  teach 
appreciation,  but  we  must  teach  it  as  a  kind  of  by- 
product. So  long  as  we  '  teach  singing,'  '  teach 
poetry,'  and  so  on,  we  are  actually  teaching  appre- 
ciation in  the  only  possible  way.  Appreciation 
springs  up  of  its  own  accord  in  connection  with  these 
activities.  There  is  no  need  to  depute  it  to  some 
person  as  his  special  concern." 

This  is  a  familiar  mode  of  argument,  and  it  has 
been  used  repeatedly  in  connection  with  morals  as 
well  as  aesthetics.  M.  Cousinet  rightly  brushes  it 
aside. 


194  THE   LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

There  are,  he  says,  two  parts  or  aspects  of  aesthetic 
education,  —  production  (or  execution)  and  contem- 
plation (or  appreciation),  —  and  they  cannot  perform 
each  other's  functions.  The  practice  of  an  art  may 
make  us  more  or  less  clever  in  execution,  but  it  does 
not  necessarily  make  us  good  judges  of  the  works  of 
others  or  even  of  our  own  ;  often  it  makes  us  think  too 
highly  of  the  mere  overcoming  of  technical  difficulties, 
or  too  lowly  of  artists  whose  style  is  not  the  one  we 
prefer;  its  influence,  in  short,  is  egoistic,  while  the 
influence  of  appreciation  is  altruistic;  the  latter 
unites  rather  than  separates  men. 

The  practice  of  an  art  is  not  identical  with  real 
culture.  Contemplation  or  appreciation  have  to  be 
learned  as  such;  they  do  not  follow  from  a  series  of 
aesthetic  activities. 

Here,  of  course,  as  M.  Cousinet  points  out,  we  run 
up  against  some  of  the  darling  dogmas  of  our  edu- 
cationists. The  pupil  has  to  "  learn  "  everything 
by  "  doing  "  ;  there  has  been,  in  the  past,  "  too  much 
preaching  and  lecturing  by  teachers,"  and  so  on. 
Some  of  the  bold  American  experiments  in  inducing 
children  actually  to  compose  music  are  only  the  ex- 
treme form  of  this  tendency  towards  assigning  to 
"  activity  "  the  one  and  only  role  in  education.  But 
there  is  an  error,  M.  Cousinet  urges,  in  all  this.  The 
facts  of  Hfe  go  to  show  that  appreciation  has  to  be 
taught  as  stick,  at  some  time  or  another.     It  is  not 


THE   POLEMICS   OF   APPRECMTION  195 

an  inevitable  product  or  by-product  of  life  experience 
or  even  of  specific  training  in  art. 

Direct  versus  indirect  methods.  —  "  And  the  teaching 
of  appreciation  —  what  form  will  it  take  ?  surely  you 
will  not  discuss  with  children  the  principles  of  beauty  ? 
Surely  you  will  prefer  to  allow  beautiful  music,  beau- 
tiful pictures,  to  play  upon  the  mind  ?  Even  although 
young  children  cannot  interpret  Holman  Hunt's 
pictures  with  the  precise  and  instantaneous  accuracy 
of  a  trained  critic,  you  will  surely  admit  that  some 
influence  is  exerted  by  works  of  beauty  apart  from 
any  explanations  of  them  that  the  teacher  or  textbook 
may  give  ?  And  so  with  music,  too  ;  will  not '  beauty 
born  of  murmuring  sound  '  pass  into  the  face  and 
life  without  didactic  intermediaries?  Admitting  the 
value  of  specific  instruction  in  aesthetics  at  some  stage 
or  other  in  the  child's,  or  the  adolescent's,  or  the 
adult's  Hfe,  surely  there  is  much  \drtue  in  the  quieter, 
more  unconscious  influence  of  beauty?  " 

It  is  necessary  here  to  be  modest.  The  exact 
ratio  and  relation  that  should  exist  between  indirect 
and  direct  methods  of  teaching  are  beyond  the  power 
of  any  present-day  educationist  to  define  or  deter- 
mine. We  simply  know  little  or  nothing  about  the 
subject.  We  have  our  prejudices,  we  have  our  clap- 
trap formulae,  and  these  do  duty  for  msdom. 

So  far,  however,  as  I  can  discover,  and  M.  Cousinet 
says  the  same,  pictures  hanging  silently  in  a  class- 


196  THE  LESSON   IN   APPRECIATION 

room,  and  music  played  without  comment  or  discus- 
sion have  not  much  injiuence  of  any  kind  upon  taste 
and  character.  If,  indeed,  they  exerted  a  very  large 
influence,  the  aesthetic  outlook  for  modern  nations 
would  be  gloomy  in  the  extreme ;  for,  presumably, 
bad  pictures  and  bad  music  would  then  also  be  tre- 
mendously influential  on  taste  and  character,  and  the 
sights  of  our  ugly  streets  and  the  banal  music  of  our 
halls  would  be  causing,  every  day,  a  fatal  deteriora- 
tion in  taste.  The  advocates  of  the  teaching  of 
appreciation  (or  "  contemplation  ")  desire  something 
far  more  direct  than  the  alleged  education  supphed  by 
pictures  and  music  in  "  unconscious  "  ways.  It  is 
true,  as  M.  Cousinet  asserts  and  as  much  experience 
confirms,  that  artistic  activity  in  the  sense  of  technical 
practice  does  not  necessarily  create  artistic  taste; 
it  is  also  true  that  artistic  ^activity,  in  the  sense  of 
"  unconscious  "  learning,  does  not  create  it. 

The  reason  is,  of  course,  that  the  human  mind  has 
to  concentrate  on  one  task  at  a  time  and  that  in  doing 
the  one  task  it  is  bound,  for  a  while,  to  neglect  others. 
It  is  this  principle  which,  it  seems  to  me,  vitiates 
almost  all  of  the  reasoning  in  a  valuable  book  called 
Suggestion  in  Education.  The  author  ^  tells  us  that  a 
youth  can  best  pick  up  moral  truths  while  he  is  him- 
self engaged  in  some  alien  but  strenuous  piece  of  school 
work,  e.g.,  solving  problems  in  history.  My  beUef 
'  Mr.  M.  W.  Keatinge. 


THE  POLEMICS  OF  APPRECIATION  197 

is  that  in  matters  of  morals  exactly  the  same  principle 
holds  good  as  in  matters  of  aesthetics.  I  believe  that 
here,  too,  there  is  need  for  "  contemplation,"  that  is, 
for  reflecting  dispassionately  on  moral  truths  and 
moral  examples ;  and  that  this  cannot  be  done  while 
the  attention  is  wholly  engaged  in  the  strenuous  work 
of  school  or  life. 

Of  course  the  notion  that  we  "  learn  by  doing  "  is 
a  popular  one  among  "  practical  "  people  and  has  much 
to  justify  it  in  certain  departments  of  life.  It  is, 
indeed,  a  notion  that  many  teachers  badly  need  to 
assimilate.  There  is  Httle  doubt  that  before  long 
they  will  have  satisfactorily  assimilated  it  in  connec- 
tion with  such  subjects  as  mathematics  and  science 
and  that  training  in  English  speech  will  also  be  revo- 
lutionized by  the  influence  of  the  same  principle  when 
the  excellent  methods  of  teaching  French  and  German 
by  means  of  the  Holzel  pictures  and  other  practical 
devices  will  be  extended  to  the  teaching  of  the  mother 
tongue ! 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  half  the  subjects 
taught  in  the  modern  school  (day  and  evening)  are 
taught  too  verbally  or  theoretically,  and  the  other 
half  too  practically.  Hygiene  is  one,  in  addition 
to  those  already  mentioned,  that  falls  under  the 
former  category ;  a  "  course  "  in  hygiene  means  in- 
variably a  course  of  lectures.  Physical  exercises, 
handicraft,  and  music  are,   on  the  other  hand,  too 


198  THE  LESSON  EST  APPRECIATION 

"  practical  " ;  the  teacher  does  not  philosophize 
enough ;  the  rationale  of  this  or  that  muscular  move- 
ment, the  teachings  of  WilUam  Morris,  the  principles 
of  repetition  and  contrast,  and  the  like,  are  rarely  or 
never  referred  to  by  the  teacher  of  these  three  subjects. 

I  dismiss,  therefore,  with  M.  Cousinet,  the  dogma 
that  everything  must  be  taught  "  practically." 
There  is  a  place  for  practice  and  there  is  a  place  for 
theory  —  and  "contemplation." 

Experimental  aesthetics.  —  During  recent  years  the 
realm  of  aesthetics  has  been  invaded  by  the  experi- 
menter. 

As  is  the  usual  way  with  that  gentleman,  he  has 
begun  with  comparatively  simple  problems,  leaving 
the  complexities  of  composition  in  which  the  artist  and 
musician  revel  alone  for  the  present.  And  so  far  he 
has  told  us  very  little  that  we  did  not  know  before. 
Still  it  is  worth  having  our  vague  convictions  confirmed 
by  experiment. 

He  has  shown  that  the  pleasure  derived  from  certain 
colors  is  not  entirely  the  result  of  associations  and  ex- 
perience ;  some  colors  are  pleasant  and  stimulating 
from  the  first,  even  to  such  lowly  animals  as  earthworms. 
The  warm  colors  may  even  exert  marked,  even  if  tem- 
porary, influence  on  physical  strength,  increasing,  for 
example,  the  power  of  the  hand  grip.  Further,  there 
is  a  primary  pleasure  derived  from  curves,  etc.,  in- 
dependently of  associations  (so  far  as  we  can  tell). 


THE   POLEMICS   OF  APPRECIATION  199 

Still,  associations  do  exert  a  very  great  influence 
on  adult  judgments  and  preferences.  The  "  weight 
principle  "  is  of  particular  importance  ;  people  like,  as 
a  rule,  to  have  saturated  colors  placed  below,  rather 
than  above,  colors  of  a  lighter  shade,  the  idea  being  that 
to  place  colors  with  more  apparent  substance  above 
those  with  less  is  to  make  a  top-heavy  arrangement. 
But  other  considerations  may  come  in  also. 

People,  in  fact,  differ  in  their  characteristic  reactions 
to  colors,  pictures,  and  art  generally.  The  four  chief 
types  of  judgment  are  (i)  the  objective,  attention  is 
concentrated  upon  the  presented  material  itself ; 
(2)  the  physiological,  the  material  affects  the  bodily 
sensations  ("  depressing  "  etc.) ;  (3)  the  associative, 
the  material  reminds  us  of  something ;  (4)  the  material 
is  personified  as  having  a  character  {"  treacherous," 
"  aggressive,"  etc.). 

Confirmation  of  the  principle  of  distraction.  — 
The  principle  of  distraction,  so  often  referred  to  in  this 
book,  recurs  again  and  again  in  experimental  aesthetics. 
People  prefer  larger  to  smaller  areas  of  the  lighter  tints, 
for  "  the  indefiniteness  of  the  color  of  an  object,  any 
uncertainty  as  to  its  actual  color-tone,  is  lessened  by 
an  increase  in  the  size  of  the  colored  area."  "  The 
aesthetic  enjoyment  of  color  is  lessened  in  so  far  as 
attention  is  called  away  from  the  color  to  the  effect  it  is 
producing  on  the  observer  himself."     (Valentine.) 

Perhaps  the  most  important  example  of  the  principle 


200  THE  LESSON  IN  APPRECIATION 

of  distraction  is  contained  in  Helmholtz's  great  theory 
that  tonal  discord  and  unpleasantness  are  due  to  the 
interference  or  clashing  of  the  sound  wave  set  up  by 
certain  notes.  Thus  C  and  D  in  the  scale  are  discord- 
ant because  their  waves  do  not  coincide  at  any  point ; 
while  C  and  C  are  harmonious,  the  vibrations  of  C 
being  exactly  twice  as  numerous  as  those  of  C  and 
therefore  reenforcing  them ;  similarly  C  and  G  (ratio 
2 : 3)  and  C  and  F  (ratio  3 : 4)  are  harmonious. 
(Think  of  two  people  whose  steps,  as  they  walk  side 
by  side,  have  these  time  relations.  At  very  short 
intervals  they  are  absolutely  in  time  with  each  other.) 
When  this  principle  is  appHed  to  overtones,  as  Helm- 
holtz  applied  it,  an  almost  complete  explanation  of 
the  relative  pleasantness  of  certain  combinations  is 
given. 

An  attempt  has  also  been  made  '  to  extend  this  prin- 
ciple to  colors.  There  are  seven  notes  in  the  scale  and 
seven  colors  in  the  spectrum.  The  [complementary] 
colors  that  harmonize  best  stand  in  the  simple  ratio 
{i.e.,  their  vibration  numbers  do)  of  3  :  4  :  these  colors 

are : 

carmine-red  and  bluish  green 

vermilion  and  turquoise-blue 
yellowish  green  and  violet 
green  and  purple 
On  this  theory,  "  these  complementary  colors  influ- 

'  Raymond,  Esthetics,  p.  377. 


THE  POLEMICS  OF  APPRECIATION  20I 

ence  the  organs  of  the  same  retina  without  producing 
any  sensation  of  jolting  or  jarring  .  .  .  there  is  a  free, 
unrestrained  vibratory  thrill  or  glow."  Quantity  of 
color  (like  loudness  of  tones  in  music)  has  nothing  to 
do  with  the  harmony  of  effect :  "all  that  is  necessary 
is  that  the  form  of  vibration  causing  the  one  color, 
be  it  much  or  Httle,  should  exactly  coalesce  with  the 
form  of  vibration  causing  the  other  color." 

Thus  we  get  an  explanation  of  the  pleasant  effect 
of  "  tonal  pictures,"  i.e.,  those  that  are  all  of  the  same 
color,  varied  only  by  differences  of  tint  and  shade. 
The  principle  here  is  not  antagonistic  to  the  last,  any 
more  than  a  loud  C  is  inharmonious  with  a  soft  C  in 
music ;  many  people  have  been  unnecessarily  puzzled 
at  the  fact  that  pleasant  effects  arise  both  from 
"  tonal  "  pictures  and  from  complementary  colors. 

An  attempt  has  been  made  to  explain  our  pleasure 
in  curves  as  the  result  of  easy  eye  movement  in  the 
eye  muscles.  But  in  point  of  fact  the  eye  does  not 
move  in  curves  but  in  lines,  jerking  itself  from  one 
point  to  another.  This  instance,  therefore,  has  no 
direct  bearing  on  the  principle  of  distraction.  It  may, 
however,  have  an  indirect  bearing. 

So,  too,  the  argument  of  Fechner  that  the  golden 
section  of  a  line  is  pleasant  because  the  attention  is 
facihtated  by  the  repetition  of  a  mathematical  prin- 
ciple is  based  on  the  principle  of  distraction.  (But 
Fechner's  view  has  recently  been  questioned.     The 


202  THE  LESSON  IN   APPRECIATION 

golden  section  of  a  line  is  obtained  by  dividing  it  into 
two  parts  so  that 

shorter  part  :  longer  part  :  :  longer  part  :  whole), 

Ruskin's  definition  of  composition  (in  painting)  as 
"  the  help  of  everything  in  the  picture  by  everything 
else  "  is  another  application  of  the  principle  of  dis- 
traction. 

Appreciation  of  pictures.  —  Experiments  on  chil- 
dren's and  adults'  appreciation  of  pictures  have  been 
carried  out  by  Schulze,  Martin,  and  others.  The 
results  are  not  very  valuable.  Children  appreciate 
details  and  have  Httle  sense  of  unity ;  they  appreciate 
color  more  than  form  and  chiaroscuro ;  and  they  at- 
tend Httle  to  the  skill  of  the  artist. 

As  a  rule,  a  picture  requires  a  fair  number  of  seconds 
for  its  appreciation,  but  an  elementary  kind  of  appre- 
ciation is  often  possible  with  a  2  seconds'  exposure. 
"  Familiarity  ...  is  an  essential  element  of  the  idea 
of  beauty."  But  excessive  familiarity  may  produce 
reaction  or  indifference  except  in  the  case  of  master- 
pieces. For  complex  works  of  art,  including  pieces 
of  music,  the  first  presentation  is  not  enough  for  com- 
plete appreciation. 


APPENDIX  A 

QUESTIONS,   EXERCISES,  AND   QUOTATIONS 

The  following  is  not  a  systematic  catechism  based  on  the 
preceding  chapters;  in  some  cases,  indeed,  nothing  is  given 
but  a  quotation  which,  while  suggesting  thought,  wiU  find  no 
answer  in  the  text.  I  have  largely  employed  the  works  of 
Omond  and  Saintsbury  on  meter,  Parry  on  music,  and  Coffin 
on  American  paintings,  and  the  arrangement  is  roughly  in  that 
order. 

(i)  Analyze,  if  you  can,  the  charm  of  Matthew  Arnold's  fine 
description  of  the  Greek  dramatist  Sophocles :  — 

"Who  saw  Ufe  steadily  and  saw  it  whole." 

(2)  Contrast  the  following  and  indicate  the  differences 
between  (a)  and  (b),  and  (b)  and  (c) :  — 

(a)  "  The  life  of  D  is  extinct,  and  he  is  no  longer  affected 
by  the  personal  vicissitudes  and  dangers  of  government,  such 
as  assassination,  treason,  rebellion,  and  foreign  invasion,  which 
produce  this  anxiety  in  my  [the  king's]  mind." 

(b)  "  D Hes  in  his  grave.     Life  that  racks  my  soul  with 

succeeding  ague-fits  of  fear  for  him  is  over  and  he  sleeps  in 

peace  beyond  the  reach  of  treason.     The  assassin's  steel  or 

poisoned  cup,  secretly  fomented  strife  at  home,  treacherously 

assisted  hostility  from  abroad  —  none  of  these  can  harm  him 

now." 

"  Duncan  is  in  his  grave ; 

After  life's  fitful  fever  he  sleeps  well ; 

Treason  has  done  his  worst :  nor  steel,  nor  poison, 

203 


204  APPENDIX  A 

Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy,  nothing 

Can  touch  him  further."  (Macbeth.) 

(i)  and  (2)  from  Liddell's  Introd.  to  the  Study  of  Poetry. 

(3)  When  Macbeth  speaks  of  "life's  fitful  fever"  and  of 
Duncan's  deliverance  from  it  he  uses  a  metaphor.  Discuss  its 
appropriateness  ("fitful"). 

(4)  Compare  and  contrast  the  two  following  verses  from 
Shakespeare's  sonnets :  — 

(i)  "  When  to  the  sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought." 
(2)  "  When  I  do  count  the  clock  that  tells  the  time." 

(5)  Compare  Milton's  words  in  Paradise  Lost,  I,  — 

"A  shout  that  tore  hell's  conclave  " 

with  the  suggested  form,  — 

"A  cry  which  rent  the  vault  of  hell." 

(6)  In  the  verse  from  Shakespeare's  29th  sonnet :  — 

"Like  to  the  lark  at  break  of  day  arising" 

the  rhythm  movement  is  said  to  be  divided  into  pulses  that  are 
suggestive  of  lark  flight.     Is  this  so  ? 

(7)  "Wherever  the  imagination  plays  about  an  object, 
expanding  it  and  relating  it  to  what  is  significant  and  vital, 
there  the  aesthetic  faculty  is  at  work."  "  This  humdrum  old 
world  of  ours"  can  be  made  to  "burst  with  beauty."  (De 
Garmo.)  Do  you  think  the  aesthetic  faculty  could  work  on 
such  subjects  as  (i)  a  broken  shoe,  (2)  a  can  of  petrol,  (3)  a 
snake  ? 

(8)  Consider  the  case  of  a  flower.  Is  it  inherently  beautiful  ? 
If  so,  can  it  take  on  new  noninherent  beauties  from  any  source  ? 

(9)  How  would  you  prevent  children  from  misunderstanding 
fatally  the  usage  of  "become"  in  the  sense  of  "suit"  :  — 

"  Those  two  mourning  eyes  become  thy  face." 


APPENDIX  A  205 

(10)  Longfellow  said  of  his  own  attempts  at  hexametric 
verse  that  "the  motions  of  the  English  Muse  are  not  unlike 
those  of  a  prisoner  dancing  to  the  music  of  his  chains." 

(11)  "The  sounds  of  verse  have  constantly  to  effect  a  com- 
promise between  the  tj^ical  rhythm  to  which  they  are  set  and  the 
irregular  stress  —  and  time  —  variations  of  human  speech.  .  .  . 
The  fundamental  principle  of  verse  is  that  it  sets  up  a  new  order 
of  progress  which  constantly  conflicts  with,  yet  without  de- 
stroying, the  order  of  progress  of  common  prose  speech."  (Dr. 
Alden.) 

(12)  "EngHsh  syllables  do  not  by  themselves  create  or  con- 
stitute rhythmical  periods.  They  are,  at  most,  set  or  adjusted 
to  such  periods,  often  with  perceptible  coercion.  This  enforced 
adjustment  gives  our  verse  its  charm  and  character." 

(13)  Professor  Scott  makes  prose  rhythm  depend  mainly 
on  pitch,  verse  rhythm  on  stress  or  force.  Professor  Bright  dis- 
tinguishes pitch  accent  from  force  accent.     Weigh  these  views. 

(14)  "Rhythm  represents  emotion  and  it  gives  rise  to  emo- 
tion."    (Dixon.) 

(15)  "  English  verse  is  '  decorated  prose,'  decoration  involving 
symmetry  and  proportion."     (Browne.)     Consider  this. 

(16)  "In  practice  it  is  impossible  fully  to  harmonize  the 
natural  quantity  and  stress  of  a  language  with  the  artificial 
quantity  and  stress  of  meter ;  one  or  other  must  go  to  the  wall. 
.  .  .  The  stress  groups  of  ordinary  speech  amount  to  nothing 
more  than  prose ;  to  make  them  into  feet  we  lengthen  or  shorten 
syllables  without  scruple."     (Sweet.) 

(17)  What  kind  of  verse  is  this :  — 

"  Nay,  it  is  better  thus,  the  Monarch  piously  answered." 

(18)  "Divorced  from  time,  stress  in'English  has  never  proved 
a  sufficient  basis  of  meter ;  lines  do  not '  read  themselves.'  And, 
divorced  from  time,  no  mere  succession  of  prose  accents  will 


2o6  APPENDIX    A 

create  an  impression  of  verse.  .  .  .  Our  word  accent  and, 
still  more,  our  sentence  accent  are  too  fugitive  and  capricious 
to  be  made  the  sole  basis  of  verse." 

(19)  "The  laws  of  prosody  .  .  .  have  one  common  purpose: 
to  keep  aUve  the  opposition  of  two  schemes  simultaneously 
followed.  .  .  .  The  eccentric  scansion  of  the  group  is  an 
adornment ;  but  as  soon  as  the  original  beat  has  been  forgotten 
it  ceases  to  be  an  adornment."     (R.  L.  Stevenson.) 

(20)  Distinguish  between  rhythmical  accent  (or  ictus) 
Verbal  emphasis,  and  syllable  stress. 

(21)  Some  writers  claim  that  English  verse  is  marked  by  a  mid- 
way pause  which  divides  it  into  versicles  or  sections.  (Guest.) 
Consider  this  from  a  study  of  many  blank  verse  passages,  e.g., 

"The  glass  of  fashion  and  the  mold  of  form." 

(22)  "No  rhyme  but  a  perfect  rhyme  is  ever  worth  a  poet's 
while."     (Lanier.) 

(23)  Rhythm  consists  in  "stimulation  at  fixed  degrees  of 
time,"  its  essential  quality  being  "continuous  satisfaction  of 
expectation."     (Gurney.) 

(24)  Meter  is  akin  to  music  in  that  it  contains  "measured 
rests,  filling  up  the  time  required,  as  in  bars  of  music.'"  (Rus- 
kin.)     Steele  was  the  first  to  treat  pauses  as  factors  of  meter. 

(25)  "  Rhythm  is  a  national  thing,  meter  can  be  trans- 
planted."    (From  Earle.) 

(26)  "All  exaltation  is  rhythmic."     (Wadham.) 

(27)  "Blank  verse,  coming  near  to  prose,  is  specially  suitable 
for  narrative  ;  it  is  enough  if  an  occasional  line  in  strict  measure 
reminds  us  of  the  rhythm."     (From  Rev.  W.  Young.) 

(28)  "It  would  be  a  very  'wooden'  verse  in  which  word 
accent  and  verse  beat  always  coincided." 

(29)  "The  metrical  expression  of  emotion  is  an  instinct,  not 
an  artifice." 


APPENDIX  A  207 

(30)  Consider  whether  there  is  a  rhythmic  arrangement  in 
the  "poems"  of  Walt  Whitman. 

(31)  Feet  must  be  "made  to  occupy  the  same  time."  Nine 
tenths  of  prosody  "  appertain  to  the  mathematics."    (E.  A.  Poe.) 

(32)  "In  English  verse  accentuation  usually  reenforces 
metrical  ictus." 

{33)  "'Accent'  with  us  does  not  necessarily  imply  either 
elevation  of  pitch,  or  increase  of  loudness,  or  prolongation  of 
time.  Normally  we  like  to  unite  all  three  on  one  syllable.  .  .  . 
But  it  is  possible  to  accentuate  a  syllable  by  lowering  the  voice, 
by  uttering  it  more  softly,  or  by  shortening  its  duration." 
(Omond.) 

(34)  Some  people  contend  that  Pope's  most  regular  hnes  are 
his  weakest  in  point  of  versification,  others  contend  the  reverse. 
Study  this. 

(35)  Coleridge  wrote  Christabel  on  the  principle  of  "counting 
in  each  line  the  accents,  not  the  syllables."  Find  out  whether 
he  meant  "accented  syllables"  in  the  ordinary  sense,  or  accents 
occurring  at  equal  intervals  of  time,  separating  variable  numbers 
of  syllables. 

(36)  Is  there  any  rhythm  in  Milton's  verse :  — 

"  Rocks,  caves,  lakes,  fens,  bogs,  dens,  and  shades  of  death." 

(37)  "  Southey's  hexametric  verse  (in  his  Vision  ofJttdgment), 
while  having  no  claim  to  represent  classic  hexameter,  is  perfectly 
admissible  as  an  English  form  of  verse.  It  is  simply  a  triple 
time  six  cadence  line,  with  falling  accent,  and  without  rime." 

(38)  According  to  Saintsbury  the  amphibrach  (v^  _  w)  and 
the  paeon,  especially  the  third  paeon  (vy  ^  _  w),  are  peculiarly 
prose  feet.  He  quotes  the  following  among  many  other 
examples :  — 

I  The  spring  of  |  his  whole  conduct  |  is  fear  ] 


2o8  APPENDIX   A 

This  is  "like  advance  and  retreat,  to  gain  momentum  and 
final  impetus  of  a  battering  ram."  Analyze  passages  of  first- 
class  prose  and  see  whether  Saintsbury's  dictum  is  correct. 

(39)  Deduce  an  aesthetic  principle  from  Saintsbury's  state- 
ment that,  in  the  case  of  Middleton,  "the  thrust  and  parry  of 
controversy  and  personal  feeling  infuse  a  rhythm  of  its  own." 

(40)  Consider  the  various  effects  producible  by  rhythmic 

devices  in  prose.     A  molossus  ( ),  three  long  syllables) 

is  alleged  to  be  impressive  in  Berkeley's :  — 

"  All  these  advantages  are  produced  from  drunkenness  in  the 

vulgar  way  |  by  strong  beer  |." 

Find  also  examples  of  alternation  of  long  and  short  clauses, 
of  balance,  of  cumulation,  of  paralleHsm,  and  of  step  arrange- 
ment {i.e.  lengthening  of  clauses  in  succession). 

(41)  "The  law  of  association  makes  realistic  suggestion 
inevitable  wherever  reference  to  things  external  is  made  in 
connection  with  music.  .  .  .  The  public  are  almost  ready  to 
beheve  the  scale  of  C  major  is  interesting  if  they  are  told  that 
it  represents  a  rivulet,  though  the  chances  are  that  very  few  of 
them  would  care  about  the  rivulet  if  they  saw  one."     (Parry.) 

(42)  "Style  never  can  possibly  exist  of  itself.  It  is  ad- 
mirable when  it  fulfils  its  purpose,  which  is  to  convey  ideas.  .  .  . 
Overvaluation  of  style  is  a  decisive  indication  of  decadence." 

(43)  "The  effect  of  the  Teutonic  instinct  is  to  bring  music 
into  touch  with  realities,  to  express  something  which  is  human 
.  .  .  not  to  leave  the  being  merely  in  a  pleasant  state  of  in- 
definite exaltation  by  abstract  beauty." 

(44)  "Every  one  notices  the  tremendous  volume  of  tone  in 
which  recent  composers  take  delight.  But  perhaps  it  is  not 
noticed  that  the  effect  of  almost  overpowering  sound  is  mainly 
produced  by  the  ingenuity  with  which  they  reduce  the  sound 
almost  to  nothing  in  other  parts  of  their  compositions." 


APPENDIX   A  209 

(45)  "  People  talk  of  the  richness  of  some  modem  works,  and 
overlook  the  fact  that  the  texture  is  made  up  of  commonplace 
formulce  of  scales  and  arpeggios  which  are  apt  to  the  instru- 
ments and  say  nothing  to  the  mind ;  mere  superficial  splutters 
of  pretended  vivacity  with  no  vitality  in  them." 

(46)  "  In  the  early  stages  of  {e.g.  choral)  music  .  .  .  there 
was  nothing  which  stood  out  decisively  from  the  context  to 
lay  hold  of  the  mind  .  .  .  The  music  was  all  vague  and  in- 
definite." 

(47)  "Romanticism  is  .  .  .  the  recognition  of  the  close  rela- 
tion of  music  to  humanity." 

(48)  "The  leading  note"  (te)  is  the  least  independent  note 
in  the  scale,  and  leads  naturally  upwards  to  the  tonic.  Find 
examples  from  popular  and  base  music  in  which  this  note  is 
diverted  to  other  uses  (i.e. ,  in  which  it  is  made  more  independent 
of  the  tonic,  the  voice  going  to  any  point  in  the  scale  rather  than 
to  the  latter) .  Find  in  particular  instances  of  the  employment 
of  the  tritone  (te-fah)  by  good  musicians  and  by  composers  of 
base  music. 

(49)  "The  fact  that  'consecutive  fifths'  are  not  met  with 
in  any  music  which  has  any  pretensions  to  decency  is  the  reason 
why  it  was  adopted  by  the  purveyors  of  new  tunes  for  music 
halls.  .  .  .  The  result  may  fairly  be  called  the  '  music-hall 
cadence '  consisting  in  most  cases  of  a  very  stupid  progression 
in  which  the  tune  and  the  bass  move  in  parallels  of  fifths." 

(50)  "The  appreciation  which  is  the  result  of  mere  excite- 
ment is  not  truly  artistic  appreciation  at  all." 

(51)  "It  is  not  in  the  competence  of  the  very  big  pubUc  to 
encourage  really  first-rate  men  in  any  branch  of  art  or  Htera- 
ture." 

(52)  "It  has  often  been  observed  that  the  finest  works  of  art 
are  only  produced  by  those  who  have  to  experience  hardship, 
pain,  and  difiiculty." 


2IO  APPENDIX   A 

(53)  Consider  and  criticize  the  following  passages  from  Mr. 
H.  G.  Wells :  — 

(o)  "Then  he  became  aware  that  the  church  tower  frothed 
with  his  daughters." 

(b)  The  "Soul."  —  "One  might  figure  it,  I  suppose,  as  a  pre- 
posterous jumble  animated  by  a  will ;  a  floundering  discon- 
nectedness through  which  an  old  hump  of  impulse  rises  and 
thrusts  unaccountably ;  a  wild  beast  of  purpose  wallowing  in  a 
back  eddy  of  mud  and  weeds  and  floating  objects  and  creatures 
drowned." 

(54)  "Appreciation  is  largely  a  matter  of  imitative  sym- 
pathy."    (Cloudsley  Brereton.) 

(55)  What  aesthetic  principles  are  exemplified  in  the  follow- 
ing:  — 

"The  passage,  which  the  agent  called  the  hall,  was  much 
broader  and  more  commodious  behind  the  staircase  than  in 
front,  and  she  was  able  to  banish  out  of  sight  of  the  chance 
visitor  all  that  Utter  of  hat  stand  and  umbrella  stand,  letters, 
boxes  arriving  and  parcels  to  post,  .  .  .  and  often  her  father's 
well-worn  and  all  too  fatally  comfortable  house  slippers  .  .  . 
which  had  always  offended  her  eye  at  home.  ...  A  good 
effect  at  first  is  half  the  victory  of  a  well-done  house."  (H.  G. 
Wells,  Marriage,  p.  230.) 

(56)  Deduce  principles  of  appreciation  from  the  following 
passages  from  Bernard  Shaw  :  — 

(a)  "I  have  seen  the  suburban  amateurs  of  the  Shakespeare 
Reading  Society,  seated  on  the  platform  of  a  lecture  hall,  pro- 
duce about  sixty-six  times  as  much  effect  by  reading  straight 
through  Much  Ado  About  Nothing  as  [Sir  Henry]  Irving  with 
his  expensively  mounted  and  superlatively  dull  Lyceum 
version." 

(6)  "Effects  .  .  .  which  great  players  produce  at  a  dramatic 
climax  by  working  up  the  scene,  through  sheer  force  of  acting, 


APPENDIX   A  211 

to  the  pitch  at  which,  when  the  crucial  moment  comes,  the 
effect  makes  itself,  the  artists'  work  being  then  over  though 
the  audience  is  persuaded  that  some  stupendous  magnetic 
explosion  has  taken  place." 

(f)  "The  actor  who  hurries  reminds  the  spectators  of  the 
flight  of  time,  which  it  is  his  business  to  make  them  forget." 

(d)  "Mozart,  in  rushing  an  operatic  movement  to  a  spirited 
conclusion,  knew  how  to  make  it,  when  apparently  already 
at  its  utmost,  seem  to  bound  forward  by  a  sudden  pianissimo 
and  lightsome  change  of  step,  the  speed  and  force  of  the  execu- 
tion being  actually  reduced  instead  of  intensified  by  the  change. 
[It  is  a  mistake]  to  carry  through  a  long  crescendo  of  excitement 
by  main  force  after  beginning  fortissimo." 

(e)  "  There  is  nothing  to  be  done  with  [such  a  dramatic  sit- 
uation] except  prepare  its  effect  by  acting  beforehand  so  as  to 
make  the  situation  live,  and  then  let  it  do  its  own  work." 

(/)  "In  the  play  we  had  first  the  inevitable  two  servants 
gossiping  about  their  employers'  aflfairs  .  .  .  their  real  function 
being  to  bore  the  audience  sufi&ciently  to  make  the  principals 
doubly  welcome  when  they  arrive." 

(g)  "It  is  just  as  impossible  for  a  human  being  to  study 
and  perform  a  new  part  of  any  magnitude  every  day  as  to  play 
Hamlet  for  a  hundred  consecutive  nights."  "The  performers 
[in  the  hundred  nights'  run  of  Hamlet]  had  passed  through  the 
stage  of  acute  mania,  and  were  for  the  most  part  sleep  walking 
in  sort  of  dozed  blank- verse  dream." 

(h)  ' '  Nine  tenths  of  the  charm  of  Chinatown  lies  in  its  novelty. ' ' 
(i)  "  Cassius  in  the  first  act  has  a  twaddling  forty-line  speech, 
base  in  its  matter  and  mean  in  its  measure,  followed  imme- 
diately by  the  magnificent  torrent  of  rhetoric,  the  first  burst  of 
true  Shakespearean  music  in  the  play,  beginning, 

"  '  Why  man  he  doth  bestride  the  narrow  world 
Like  a  Colossus.' 


212  APPENT)IX   A 

I  failed  to  catch  the  sUghtest  change  of  elevation  or  reenforce- 

ment  of  feeling  when  Mr. passed  from  one  to  the  other. 

His  tone  throughout  was  dry ;  and  it  never  varied." 

(57)  George  Inness  learned  that  "the  best  art  does  not 
consist  in  representing  ever>'thing  in  sight  but  in  discovering 
what  are  the  salient  and  essential  characteristics  and  in  setting 
these  down  in  a  masterly  summary."  "Only  he  who  has 
learned  to  put  in  can  be  successful  in  leaving  out." 

Illustrate  these  statements  from  the  paintings  of  George 
Inness. 

(58)  "In  nature  it  is  not  order  but  irregularity  that  prevails 
and  yet  this  disorder  presents  appearances  of  unity  of  effect." 
The  Japanese  learned  from  it  "a  new  kind  of  symmetry  .  .  . 
the  result  of  careful  calculation  which  gratified  the  eye  with  a 
sense  of  unity,  yet  had  the  appearance  of  being  the  result  of 
accident." 

(59)  "The  value  of  elusiveness  in  a  work  of  art  was  one  of  the 
great  truths  that  Whistler's  example  teaches." 

(60)  The  Landscape  of  Durand  in  the  Lennox  Collection, 
New  York,  is  "too  big  in  size  and  too  extensive  in  subject  to  be 
embraced  by  a  single  vision." 

(61)  Edwin  .\bbey  in  his  frieze  at  Boston  Public  Library  has 
"ignored  the  function  of  a  frieze,  which  is  to  counteract  the 
various  interruptions  down  below  ...  by  an  effect  above  of 
continuity.  ...  He  has  chopped  it  up."  "  Sargent  in  the 
lunette  and  soffit  of  the  arch  in  the  same  building  has  associ- 
ated the  forms  with  a  great  deal  of  abstruse  symbolism  ...  so 
that  people  miss  the  decorative  intention  of  the  paintings  and 
devote  their  studies  to  the  printed  key." 

(62)  Winslow  Homer  is  the  greatest  American  exponent  of 
realism  in  painting.     Compare  him  with  Albert  H.  Thayer. 

(63)  Extract  the  maximum  amount  of  meaning  from  George 
de  Forest  Brush's  painting  The  Sculptor  and  the  King. 


APPENDIX   A  213 

(64)  Show  how  art  can  interpret  science  by  the  parallel 
instance  of  Rembrandt's  School  of  Anatomy  and  Thomas 
Eakins's  Dr.  Gross'  Surgical  Clinic. 

(65)  Find  skillful  and  unskillful  instances  in  Shakespeare  of 
introductory  speeches  and  introductory  episodes,  i.e.,  speeches 
and  episodes  intended  merely  to  give  the  play  its  setting. 

(66)  Consider  Shakespeare's  Winter's  Tale  from  the  stand- 
points of  "  unity  of  time,"  "  unity  of  place,"  and  "  unity  of  action." 
Consider  Ibsen's  Doll's  House  from  the  same  standpoints. 

(67)  Which  of  the  three  "unities"  (time,  place,  and  action) 
do  you  consider  the  most  important  ?  Give  reasons  for  this 
based  on  aesthetic  principles. 

(68)  Criticize  or  justify  the  presence  of  "subplots"  in  a 
drama,  and  also  Milton's  condemnation  of  "  interweaving 
comic  stuff  with  tragic  sadness  and  gravity." 

(69)  Criticize  or  justify  the  length  of  Hugo's  novel  Les  Mi- 
ser able  s. 

(70)  "Nearly  aU  the  reaUy  great  novelists  of  the  world  have 
been  declared  moralists."    Illustrate  or  refute  this  statement. 

(71)  "The  law  of  dramatic  structure  requires  that  there  shall 
be  a  well-marked  central  interest  [in  a  drama]  to  which  all  other 
interests  are  duly  subordinated."  Illustrate  this  principle 
from  the  drama,  from  painting,  and  from  other  arts. 

(72)  Compare  the  policy  of  recent  dramatists  like  Ibsen, 
whose  plays  generally  open  just  at  the  "beginning  of  the  end," 
with  Shakespeare's  method  of  representing  on  the  stage  the 
actual  antecedents  of  the  final  tragedy. 

(73)  Compare  the  novel  with  the  drama  as  regards  (i) 
subtlety,  (2)  vividness.  Extend  the  comparison  to  the  cine- 
matograph. 

(74)  Consider  this  :  "  Some  kind  of  conflict  is  the  datum  and 
very  backbone  of  a  dramatic  story."  ^     It  has  been  alleged  that 

^  Hudson,  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Literature. 


214  APPENDIX   A 

this  statement  does  not  apply  to  Henry  V  and  The  Tempest. 
Consider  this  also. 

(75)  Horace  held  that  "things  heard  make  a  feebler  impres- 
sion than  things  seen."     Is  this  true? 

(76)  "Uamlet  is  overloaded  with  matter  which  has  httle 
or  no  vital  connection  with  the  plot."     Consider  this. 

(77)  Criticize  the  deus  ex  machina  device  in  ancient  Greek 
dramas  and  its  equivalent  in  modem  dramas  {Love's  Labour's 
Lost,  Tartuffe,  etc.) 

(78)  Generally  speaking,  it  is  bad  art  to  introduce  important 
new  motives  or  new  characters  late  in  a  play.  Criticize  or 
justify  (i)  the  conversions  of  Ohver  and  Proteus  in  As  You  Like 
It  and  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  and  (2)  the  introduction  of 
Dr.  Prell  in  Flachsmann  als  Erzieher. 

(79)  "The  hills  are  shadows,  and  they  flow 

From  form  to  form,  and  nothing  stands ; 

They  melt  Uke  mist,  the  solid  lands. 

Like  clouds  they  shape  themselves  and  go." 

(Tennyson,  /«  Memoriam.) 

Is  this  "shadows"  metaphor  a  tame  or  a  bold  one  for  (i)  the 
ordinary  man,  (2)  the  geologist  ? 

(80)  "Prose  fiction  is  the  loosest  form  of  literary  art." 
Consider  this,  and  contrast  prose  fiction  with  drama. 

(81)  "The  feehngs  can  never  quite  keep  pace  with  the 
intellect ;  as  a  result  of  this,  the  poet  is,  in  the  average  of  cases, 
conservative."  Give  examples  of  poets  and  artists  who  are  the 
reverse  of  "conservative"  in  (i)  form,  and  (2)  subject  matter. 

(82)  "Scott's  cumbrous  and  heavy  introductory  chapters 
are  almost  enough  to  deter  the  reader  on  the  very  threshold  of 
his  narrative."  What  sesthetic  principle  is  here  referred  to  by 
implication  ? 

(83)  "A  poetry  of  revolt  against  moral  ideas  is  a  poetry  of 


APPENDIX   A  215 

revolt  against  life;  a  poetry  of  indifference  towards  moral 
ideas  is  a  poetry  of  indifference  towards  life."  (Matthew 
Arnold.)  Is  there  such  a  "poetry  of  revolt"  as  that  here 
referred  to  ? 

(84)  IMatthew  Arnold  held  that  modern  subjects  were  "too 
near  ...  to  form  a  sufficiently  grand,  detached,  and  self- 
sufficient  object  for  a  tragic  poem."  Consider  this,  and  quote 
the  opinions  of  a  great  musician  on  the  same  question. 

(85)  Johnson  pointed  out  that  Milton's  blank  verse  seldom 
has  two  pure  {i.e.  quite  regular)  lines  together.  Is  this  an 
advantage  or  a  disadvantage  ?    Take  the  Une, 

"Thus  at  the  shady  lodge  arrived,  both  stood," 

and  consider  in  particular  the  last  foot. 

(86)  "Ever  since  man  has  been  man,  all  deep  and  sustained 
feeUng  has  tended  to  express  itself  in  rhythmical  language, 
and  the  deeper  the  feeUng,  the  more  characteristic  and  decided 
the  rhythm."     (Mill.)     Consider  this. 

(87)  Consider  the  following  two  of  Bacon's  statements, 
namely,  "  that  art  is  man  added  to  nature"  {ars  est  homo  additus 
naturce),  and  that  the  function  of  poetry  is  to  lend  "some 
shadow  of  satisfaction  to  the  mind  of  man  in  those  points 
wherein  the  nature  of  things  doth  deny  it." 

(88)  Is  it  possible  to  enjoy  the  rhythm  of  a  language  which 
we  do  not  understand  ? 

(89)  "The  vague  and  shadowy  doctrine  [of  "art  for  art's 
sake  "]  is  .  .  .  brought  into  contempt  by  the  rank  and  standing 
of  those  who  inculcate  it ;  it  is  for  the  most  part  associated 
with  minor  poets  and  dilettante  critics.  The  really  great 
poets  of  the  world  have  never  taken  any  account  of  it."  Men- 
tion any  representatives  of  this  doctrine. 

(90)  The  following  passage  is  taken  from  G.  A.  Smith's 
Historical  Geography  of  the  Holy  Land: 


2l6  APPENDIX  A 

"As  the  supports  of  a  great  oak  run  up  above  ground,  so  the 
gradual  hills  of  Galilee  rise  from  Esdraelon  and  the  Phoenician 
coast,  upon  that  tremendous  northern  mountain.  It  is  not 
Lebanon,  however,  but  the  opposite  range  of  Hermon,  which 
dominates  the  view.  Among  his  own  roots  Lebanon  is  out  of 
sight ;  whereas  that  long  glistening  ridge  that  stands  aloof 
always  brings  the  eye  back  to  itself." 

What  principle  of  aesthetics  is  illustrated  here  ? 

(91)  What  view  of  art  is  implied  in  the  following  quotations 
relative  to  late  Greek  sculpture :  — 

(a)  The  making  of  the  statue  of  the  Luck  of  Aniioch  (300  B.C.) 
"imphed  that  none  of  the  gods  was  near  enough  or  real  enough 
to  be  a  protection  to  the  city." 

(b)  "The  'golden  age'  of  Greece  had  passed  away  .  .  .  men 
looked  to  art  to  redress  the  balance,  and  called  for  the  works 
which  would  wean  them  for  a  few  moments  from  the  dreary 
truths  of  existence.  The  well-known 'Boy  strangling  a  goose' 
by  Boethus  is  a  delightful  work  which  .  .  .  is  an  instance  of  this 
tendency." 

(c)  "The  sculptor  has  attempted  to  crowd  into  his  composi- 
tion (the  Luck  of  Antioch)  more  than  sculpture  can  legitimately 
express  and  we  see  with  misgiving  the  first  signs  of  .  .  .  con- 
scious cleverness." 

{d)  The  bronze  head  of  a  boxer  (late  fourth  century)  in  which 
"the  disheveled  hair  is  represented  with  astonishing  skill 
[as  also]  the  depraved,  brutalized  type  of  face,  with  its  flattened 
nose,  battered  and  lowering  brow  .  .  .  affords  a  sad  contrast 
to  the  clear-cut  beauty  of  the  ideal  citizen  athlete  of  the  days 
of  Greek  freedom.  .  .  .  The  athletic  training  of  the  citizen 
ceased  to  have  any  relation  to  the  needs  of  real  life  and 
athletics  became  a  show  and  its  exponents  professional  per- 
formers." 

{e)  "The  emotions  we  experience  [on  looking  at  the  Laocoon] 


APPENDIX  A  217 

do  not  depend  upon  the  sufferings  of  the  priest  of  Neptune. 
Laocoon  is  mankind  himself." 

(/)  Relative  to  the  Diadumenus  of  Polyclitus  and  the 
Apoxyomenus  of  [the' school  of]  Lysippus :  "A  physique  that 
would  serve  the  state  in  good  stead  at  any  moment  was  the 
essential  to  the  youth  who  posed  for  the  Diadumenus.  Above 
all,  there  was  no  suggestion  of  training  for  a  single  event.  The 
Apoxyomenus,  on  the  contrary,  rather  recalls  the  system  of  our 
own  day,  in  which  particular  muscle,  rather  than  balanced 
strength,  is  the  prime  desideratum." 

(92)  "On  the  vast  canvas  of  recorded  history  one  half  cen- 
tury has  always  stood  out."     What  half  century  was  that  ? 

(93)  What  principle  is  involved  in  Wagner's  use  of  the  follow- 
ing phrase : — 

-•- 
-1= 


Erda  rising  from  below.     {The  Rheingold.) 

(94)  In  a  picture  by  Van  Beers  a  fashionable  woman  has 
seated  herself  in  a  park  on  a  bench  large  enough  for  two.  Just 
above  her  is  the  statue  of  a  man  without  a  head  but  holding  a 
flute  as  if  to  play.  In  Reynolds's  Portrait  of  Elliott  the  British 
defender  of  Gibraltar  is  represented  with  a  key  and  behind  are 
seen  cannon  pointed  downwards.  Interpret  and  if  j^ou  like 
justify  this  kind  of  art. 

(95)  "It  was  in  song  that  the  crowds  on  Wall  St.,  New  York, 
invariably  expressed  their  first  impressions  during  the  American 
Civil  War  when  receiving  news  from  the  army."  "Later  .  .  . 
the  more  excited  the  men  were  the  more  figurative  their  lan- 
guage .  .  .  '  like  this  or  that '  .  .  .  '  we  must  give  them  thunder 
and  lightning.'"  Suggest  some  aesthetic  laws  underlying  these 
facts. 


2l8  APPENDIX   A 

(96)  Consider  the  position,  in  the  arts,  of  (i)  oratory,  (2)  land- 
scape gardening.     (Cf.  Poe's  Domain  of  Arnheim.) 

(97)  What  is  the  common  significance  in  music  of  clash  of 
cymbals,  rattle  of  kettle-drums,  and  shrill  brass  (cf.  last  act  of 
Don  Giovanni) ;  of  bass  drums  and  the  lower  hollow  sounds  of 
wind  or  string  instruments  (cf.  Siegfried's  encounter  with  the 
dragon).  Consider  also  the  effect  produced  by  dark  blue  and 
green  in  painting  (cf.  Dore's  pictures  illustrating  Dante's 
Inferno),  and  also  of  yellow  (or  red)  combined  with  black. 

(98)  It  is  claimed  by  Raymond  that  the  sounds  au,  ou,  oi, 
may  be  used  to  represent  horror.  Collect  examples  from 
poetry. 

(99)  The  same  writer  says  that  roundness  of  form  represents 
vital  power,  angularity  mental  power,  length  motive  or  enactive 
power.  Consider  this  in  connection  with  the  human  face  and 
figure. 

(100)  Re\Tiolds  says  that  in  a  picture  there  may  be  three 
masses  of  light,  but  that  one  of  these  should  be  more  prominent 
than  the  other  two.     What  principle  does  this  exemplify  ? 

(loi)  "Where  the  lights  and  darks  are  in  small  portions  and 
much  divided  the  eye  is  disturbed  and  the  mind  rendered 
uneasy."     (Long.)     What  principle  is  involved  ? 

(102)  "A  dark  picture  with  its  single  ray  of  relief,  the  stern 
picture  with  only  one  tender  group  of  lines,  the  soft  and  calm 
picture  with  only  one  rock  angle  at  its  flank.  .  .  .  such  com- 
positions possess  higher  sublimity  than  those  which  are  more 
mingled  in  their  elements."  (Ruskin.)  What  principle(s) 
are  involved  ? 

(103)  "As  is  the  case  with  all  methods  .  .  .  gradation  in  art 
does  not  exist  without  its  antithesis,  which  may  be  termed 
abruptness.  By  this  is  meant  a  sudden  change  from  one 
theme,  key,  color,  or  outline  to  another."  (Raymond.) 
Collect  instances  exemplifying  this. 


APPENDIX  A  219 

(104)  Collect  examples  of  rhythm  in  (i)  the  human  body, 
(2)  in  nature. 

(105)  What  principles  is  Baldwin  enunciating  when  he  says  :  — 
"Wherever  there  is  union  of  elements  readily  and  easily 

brought  about,  wherever  integration  is  effected  without  strain 
to  the  organ  stimulated,  at  the  same  time  that  the  elements 
preserve  their  individuality  in  a  measure,  we  experience  pleas- 
ure. .  .  .  The  essential  thing  is  .  .  .  does  the  attention  .  .  . 
move  easily  ?  that  is,  is  the  psycho-physical  process  impeded  or 
advanced  ?  "     (Appendix  to  Raymond's  /Esthetics.) 

(106)  "Variety,  even  apart  from  unity,  is  pleasing."  (Sir 
William  Hamilton.)  Epic  art  is  "the  illustrating  of  some  great 
and  general  idea."  (Blair.)  In  your  studies  of  aesthetics 
investigate  these  two  statements. 

(107)  What  is  the  general  effect  in  a  picture  of  (a)  curved 
lines,  (5)  straight  lines,  (c)  horizontal  straight  lines,  {d)  vertical 
straight  lines,  {e)  angular  hnes.  Compare  the  Greek  statues 
of  Minerva  with  those  of  Venus. 

(108)  Warm  colors  cause  an  apartment  to  seem  smaller  and 
more  cosy,  the  cold  colors  exactly  the  opposite.  Can  any 
reasons  be  suggested  for  this  ?  (What  is  the  effect  of  distance 
upon  colors  ?) 

(109)  What  kind  of  meter,  if  any,  is  exemplified  in  the  fol- 
lowing :  — 

(o)  "Oh,  it  was  pitiful! 

Near  a  whole  city  full."  (Hood.) 

ih)  "Burnt  after  them  to  the  bottomless  pit."     (Milton.) 

(c)  "Rocks,  caves,  lakes,  fens,  bogs,  dens,  and  shades  of 
death."     (Milton.) 

{d)  "Roses  are  in  blossom  and  the  rills  are  filled  with  water- 
cresses." 

(e)  "There  came  to  the  shore  a  poor  exile  of  Erin." 


220  APPENDIX  A 

(no)  "The  essence  of is  regularity,  and  its  ornament  is 

variety."  (Dr.  Johnson.)  Fill  in  the  omitted  word  in  any 
suitable  way. 

(in)  Discuss  the  poetical  devices  employed  in  the  following : 

1(a)      "The  moan  of  doves  in  immemorial  elms 

And  murmuring  of  innumerable  bees.      (Tennyson.) 

(b)  "  Deliberate  valor  breathed,  firm  and  unmoved." 

(Milton.) 

(c)  "To  plunge  in  cataract  shattering  on  high  blocks." 

(Tennyson.) 

(d)  "On  the  bald  street  breaks  the  blank  day." 

(Tennyson.) 

(e)  "So  he  with  difficulty  and  labor  hard 

Moved  on,  with  difficulty  and  labor  he."      (Milton.) 

(112)  "One  of  my  students  disliked  a  greenish  color  when  she 
saw  it  as  a  greeny  yellow,  but  liked  it  when  she  regarded  it  as 
a  very  faded  brown-green,  such  as  one  sees  often  on  autumn 
leaves.  Another  student,  on  hearing  a  chord,  found  it  highly 
interesting  and  pleasing.  Then  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that 
it  was  a  discord,  and  immediately  it  appeared  somewhat  dis- 
pleasing."    (Valentine.)     What  principle  is  involved  here  ? 

(113)  "  Mental  activity  is  pleasant  in  so  far  as  it  is  successful." 
(Valentine.)     Apply  this  to  aesthetics. 

(114)  "The  'balance'  we  demand  in  a  picture  is  no  mere 
geometrical  symmetry  or  equality  of  mass  of  the  objects  on 
either  side,  but  .  .  .  the  more  subtle  influence  of  interest,  and 
attention,  and  possibly  of  suggested  movement  .  .  .  are  pre- 
dominant."    (Valentine.)     Give  examples. 

(115)  Analyze  the  principles  of  criticism  incarnated  by 
Bernard  Shaw  in  the  four  critics  in  the  epilogue  to  Fanny's 
First  Play. 


APPENDIX   A  221 

(i  i6)  Compare  the  second  with  the  eighth  line  or  verse  in  the 
following  lyric  and  criticize  the  alteration  of  the  order  of  words. 

"  Du  bist  wie  eine  Blume 
So  hold  und  schon  und  rein  ; 
Ich  schau  dich  an,  und  Wehmut 
Schleicht  mir  ins  Herz  hinein. 

"  Mir  ist,  als  ob  ich  die  Hande 
Aufs  Haupt  dir  legen  sollt, 
Betend,  dass  Gott  dich  erhalte 
So  rein  und  schon  und  hold."  (Heine.) 

(117)  "Whoever  compares  the  Grant  Testament  [of  Villon] 
with  Hugo's  Songs  of  the  Streets  and  the  Woods  will  grant  that 
the  virtuosity  of  the  modern  master  goes  no  further  than 
Villon's  in  varying  the  speed  and  shifting  the  pauses.  He 
knew  also  the  need  of  varying  the  pace  of  thought,  the  value  of 
alternate  leisureliness  and  density."     (Eccles.)     Comment. 

(118)  Express  an  opinion  on  the  striking  simile  in  the  sonnet 
Le  dernier  OcSan  of  Jean  Richepin.  The  earth  is  represented 
as  gradually  drying  up  :  — 

"  Puis  viendra  I'heure  ou  vieille,  edentee  et  sans  crins, 
EUe  n'en  aura  plus  qu'un  haillon  sur  les  reins, 
Un  lambeau  d'Ocean,  lourd,  gras,  frange  de  crasse; 
Et  dans  le  sale  ourlet  de  ce  pagne  visqueux 
Grouilleront  les  derniers  survivants  de  ma  race 
Comme  des  pous  colles  a  la  loque  d'un  gueux." 

(119)  What  is  the  meaning  and  the  value  of  the  reference  to 
"galleys  "  in  the  sonnet  of  Heredia  entitled  Antoine  et  Cleopdtre? 
The  sonnet  ends  thus :  — 

"  Et  sur  elle  courbe,  I'ardent  Imperator 
Vit  dans  ses  larges  yeux  etoiles  de  points  d'or 
Toute  une  mer  immense  ou  fuyaient  des  galeres." 


222 


APPENDIX   A 


(120)  Discuss  the  legitimacy  or  otherwise  of  making  music 
imitate,  directly  or  by  suggestion,  things  in  nature:  e.g.,  frogs, 
in  Handel's  Israel  in  Egypt:  — 


i^^^^fffrf?^ 


^^i^^" 


^S 


gga^^g 


5: 


or  the  lapping  of  water  on  the  crags,  as  in  the  Hebrides  overture 
of  Mendelssohn :  — 


#t!M.n  ""TfTtin^T!^^ 


(121)  What  effects  or  emotions  are  suggested  to  you  by  the 
three  following  phrases  from  well-known  works ;  — 

(a) 


(b) 


S 


^ 


^/, 


-<s^ 


>•■ 


n^ 


"■^s^ 


^      I         I 


APPENDIX  A 


223 


I 


sf 


==-    pp 


3 


gi;^^^Ug 


-z? 


=^ 


-<s.t— 


?=j^ 


-27 


3 


-z? 


9 


■^ — >— t — ' — I — 


-+-•- 


-<s^ 


t^r 


-^V-   ',/  *>- 


(122)  Discuss  E.  A.  Poe's  contention  that  as  poetic  excite- 
ment does  not  last  longer  than  half  an  hour,  poems  should  be 
short.  Consider  also  the  length  of  musical  pieces  {e.g.  sym- 
phonies) and  the  desirable  length  of  lessons  in  appreciation. 

(123)  Read  up  E.  A.  Poe's  views  on  the  function  of  poetry 
and  his  explanation  of  the  structure  of  The  Raven.  Consider 
in  particular  these  statements  of  his  :  — 

(a)  "It  is  the  business  of  the  poet  so  to  construct  his  line 
that  the  intention  must  be  caught  at  once." 

(b)  "Men  have  confined  rhyme  to  the  ends  of  lines  .  .  . 
when  its  effect  is  even  better  applicable  elsewhere." 

(c)  "In  most  cases  where  a  line  is  spoken  of  as  'forcible'  the 
force  may  be  referred  to  directness  of  expression.  ...  In 
short,  as  regards  verbal  construction,  the  more  prosaic  a  poetical 
style  is,  the  better." 

(124)  Is  there  any  chance  of  "distraction"  arising  here  and 
injuring  the  effect  ? 


224  APPENDIX   A 

"How  do  I  love  thee  ?    Let  me  count  the  ways. 
I  love  thee  to  the  depth  and  breadth  and  height 
My  soul  can  reach,  when  feeling  out  of  sight 
For  the  ends  of  Being  and  ideal  grace.  .  .  ." 

(E.  B.  Browning.     Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese.) 

(125)  William  Norris  said  that  we  should  never  allow  any- 
thing in  a  house  that  is  not  either  beautiful  or  useful.    Consider. 


APPENDIX  B 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


There  is  very  little  literature  dealing  with  the  pedagogics  of 
appreciation,  though  various  practical  hints  will  be  found 
scattered  through  books  on  school  methods.  (Reference  has 
been  made  in  Chapter  XV  to  a  few  works  that  deserve  mention 
and  study.)  The  numerous  excellent  books  dealing  with  the 
appreciation  and  interpretation  of  literature,  music,  pictures, 
and  statuary  are  written  for  adults  and  do  not  take  into  con- 
sideration the  needs  of  juveniles  or  adolescents  collected  in 
classes. 

Among  books  that  have  become  "classic"  expositions  of 
literary  and  artistic  questions  may  be  mentioned  Edgar  Allan 
Poe's  discussions  on  poetical  principles,  Ruskin's  Sesame  and 
Lilies  (fine  analysis  of  Milton's  Lycidas),  the  essays  of  Sainte- 
Beuve,  Matthew  Arnold,  and  Carlyle  and  all  of  Ruskin's  works 
on  painting  (always  stimulating  though  often  needing  revision). 

Stobart's  companion  works,  The  Glory  that  was  Greece  and 
The  Grandeur  that  was  Rome,  are  splendid  historical  expositions 
of  the  progress  of  art  and  its  relation  to  human  life. 

The  various  official  guidebooks  to  the  museums  and  art 
galleries  of  the  world  contain  useful  information  but  are  some- 
times less  helpful  than  unofficial  guides. 

A  book  that  has  had  an  enormous  vogue  is  Reinach's  Apollo 
(Heinemann),  which  contains  an  enormous  number  of  small 
reproductions,  of  great  pictures  and  statues  and  a  reliable  dis- 
cussion of  the  progress  of  art  throughout  the  ages. 

Q  225 


2  26  APPENDIX   B 

Mr.  Bernard  Shaw's  excursions  into  questions  of  art  are 
stimulating  in  the  extreme;  he  is  the  most  notable  contem- 
porary opponent  of  the  "art  for  art's  sake"  doctrine.  The  San- 
ity of  Art  is  a  reply  to  Max  Nordau's  claim  that  geniuses  are 
mad ;  his  Perfect  Wagnerite  is  an  exposition  of  Wagner's  ideas 
and  musical  methods;  his  Dramatic  Opinions  and  Essays  are 
topical  and  diffuse,  but  contain  many  fine  and  helpful  pas- 
sages, including  some  of  his  famous  attacks  ( ?)  on  Shake- 
speare. 

The  London  County  Council  Memorandum  referred  to  in 
Chapter  XIII  deals  mainly  with  "appreciations"  and  "per- 
spectives," the  latter  being  closely  related  to  the  former. 

The  following  is  a  very  imperfect  list  of  other  books  dealing 
with  appreciation  or  contributory  to  it. 

Pictures 

The  Story  of  American  Painting.  By  C.  H.  Caffin.  (London, 
Hodder  and  Stoughton.)  With  nearly  150  reproductions 
of  pictures. 

A  Textbook  of  the  History  of  Paifiting.  By  John  C.  Van  Dyke. 
(Longmans.)  Comprehensive.  A  fair  number  of  repro- 
ductions.    Strong  on  American  pictures. 

How  to  Look  at  Pictures.  By  R.  C.  Witt.  (Bell  and  Sons, 
London.)     Well  illustrated. 

How  to  Study  Pictures.  By  C.  H.  C.A.FFIN.  (Hodder  and 
Stoughton,  London.)  Strong  on  recent  as  well  as  ancient 
schools. 

The  English  School  of  Painting.  By  E.  Chesneau.  (London 
and  New  York,  Cassell.) 

Pre-Raphaelitism  and  the  Pre-Raphaelite  Brotherhood.  By 
W.  Holman  Hunt.  (London  and  New  York,  Mac- 
millan.)     Written  by  the  leader  of  the  Pre-Raphaelites. 


APPENDIX   B  227 

Pictorial  Composition.  By  H.  R.  Poore.  (New  York,  The 
Baker  and  Taylor  Co.)  Discusses  the  various  principles 
(of  "balance,"  etc.)  and  illustrates  them  largely  from 
American  sources. 

Art  Museums  and  Schools.  By  Stockton  Axson,  Kenyon 
Cox,  G.  Stanley  Hall,  and  Oliver  S.  Tonks.  (New 
York,  Charles  Scribner's  Sons.)  Four  lectures  dealing 
with  the  relation  of  Art  Museums  to  the  teaching  of 
English,  Art,  History,  and  the  Classics. 

Memorials  of  Sir  Edward  Burne-Jones.  By  G.  Burne-Jones. 
(Macmillan.)  Remarkable  letters  showing  the  intimate 
life  of  this  great  artist. 

A  Handbook  of  Greek  Sculpture.  By  E.  A.  Gardner.  (Mac- 
millan.) An  outline  distinguishing  the  different  schools 
and  periods  and  typical  instances  showing  development  of 
each.     Liberally  illustrated. 

Principles  of  Greek  Art.  By  Percy  Gardner.  (Macmillan.) 
This  work  sets  forth  the  principles  and  deals  with  all  im- 
portant phases  and  products  of  Greek  Art.  Carefully 
illustrated. 

Renaissance  and  Modern  Art.  By  W.  H.  Goodyear.  (Mac- 
millan.) An  appreciation  of  the  art  of  our  own  time  and 
country.  Reproductions  of  typical  works  by  American 
artists. 

Roman  and  McduEval  Art.  By  W.  H.  Goodyear.  (Mac- 
millan.) An  excellent  introduction  to  the  history  of  the 
art  of  Western  Europe.     Half-tone  illustrations. 

Considerations  on  Painting.  By  John  LaFarge.  (Mac- 
millan.) This  volume  consists  of  lectures  given  in  the 
year  1893  at  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art. 

Message  of  Greek  Art.  By  H.  H.  Powers.  (Macmillan.) 
An  attempt  to  interpret,  through  their  Art,  the  Greek 
personality,  ideals,  and  experiences. 


2  28  APPENDIX    B 

History  of  American  Sculpture.  By  Lorado  Taft.  (Mac- 
millan.)  A  history  of  American  art  from  1725  to  the 
work  of  our  still-living  great  men.     Illustrated. 

Sculpture 

Greek  Art  and  National  Life.  By  Kaines  Smith.  (London, 
Nisbet.) 

A  History  of  Sculpture.  By  E.  H.  Short.  (London,  Heine- 
mann.)  Both  of  these  books  are  strong  on  the  human 
side  of  the  subject  and  strive  to  show  the  relation  between 
art  and  life.  Short's  book  brings  the  subject  down  to 
present-day  movements. 

One  Hundred  Masterpieces  of  Sculpture.  By  G.  F.  Hill. 
(London,  Methuen.)  Every  "masterpiece"  is  shown  in 
clear  reproduction  and  the  letter  press  links  them  together. 

A  Text-book  of  the  History  of  Sculpture.  By  A.  Marquard  and 
A.  L.  Frothingham.  (London  and  New  York,  Long- 
man's.)    Strong  on  American  sculpture. 

Music 

How  to  Appreciate  Music.     By   Gustav   Kobbe.     (London, 

Sisley's.)     A  good  popular  account  of  what  to  expect  and 

listen  for  in  orchestral  music. 
How  to   Listen   to   Music.     By  H.  E.  Krehbiel.     (London, 

Murray.) 
What   is   Good   Music?     By   W.    J.    Henderson.      (London, 

Murray.) 
Beethoven   and   His   Nine   Symphonies.     By   Sir   G.    Grove. 

(New  York,  The  H.  W.  Gray  Co.) 
Music    and    Its    Appreciation.     By    Stewart    Macpherson. 

(New  York,  G.  Schirmer.)      Plenty  of  musical  illustrations 

with  exposition  by  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  appreciation 

movement  in  England. 


APPENDIX   B  229 

Dictionary  of  Music  and  Musicians.  (5  vols.)  By  Sir 
G.  Grove.  (Macmillan.)  The  most  authoritative  musical 
reference  work  of  the  day  and  intended  for  the  general 
reader  as  much  as  for  the  musician. 

A  Book  of  Operas.  By  H.  E.  Krehbiel.  (Macmillan.)  This 
work  is  a  study  of  the  source,  conception,  history,  musical 
structure,  and  significance  of  each  opera,  with  biographical 
references  to  the  composer  and  various  singers  who  have 
figured  in  the  cast. 

From  Grieg  to  Brahms.  By  Daniel  G.  Mason.  (Macmillan.) 
A  critical  introduction  to  th,e  appreciation  of  music,  with 
a  study  of  the  personality  and  work  of  six  recent  com- 
posers. An  epilogue  is  devoted  to  a  study  of  the  philosophy 
of  musical  appreciation.     Illustrated. 

The  Romantic  Composers.  By  Daniel  G.  Mason.  (Mac- 
millan.) This  book  is  a  storehouse  of  facts  dealing  with 
the  inner  lives  of  the  old  composers,  describing  the  influ- 
ence of  their  environments  on  their  compositions.  An  in- 
troductory chapter  on  the  romantic  school,  as  distinguished 
from  the  classical,  is  included,  together  with  a  series  of 
monographs  on  the  composers. 

Modern  Music  and  Musicians.  By  R.  A.  Streatfield.  (Mac- 
millan.) A  book  of  studies  of  the  great  masters,  musical, 
critical,  and  aesthetic  in  its  character,  rather  than  bio- 
graphical. 

Literature 

The  Short  Story.  By  E.  M.  Albright.  (Macmillan.)  This 
book  sets  forth  certain  acknowledged  principles  and  stand- 
ards drawn  from  an  analysis  of  the  work  of  masters,  and 
illustrates  how  these  principles  are  exemplified  in  their 
stories. 

American  Literature.     By  K.  L.  Bates.     (Macmillan.)     An 


230  APPENDIX   B 

outline  of  American  literary  progress  designed  especially 
to  show  how  essentially  American  literature  has  been  the 
product  of  American  national  life. 

The  Interpretation  of  Literature.  By  William  H.  Crawshaw. 
(Macmillan.)  Illuminating  discussions  of  the  relations  of 
literature  to  life,  the  history  of  literature,  its  division 
into  classes,  definition  of  literary  terms. 

Literary  Interpretation  of  Life.  By  William  H.  Crawshaw. 
(Macmillan.)  A  comprehensive  treatment  of  the  princi- 
ples involved  in  literary  interpretation  with  practical  sug- 
gestions which  will  give  the  reader  the  power  to  enjoy  and 
appreciate  more  intelligently  the  best  in  literature. 

Studies  and  Appreciations.  By  L.  E.  Gates.  (Macmillan.) 
The  author's  aim  is  primarily  not  to  explain  and  not  to 
judge  or  dogmatize,  but  to  enjoy ;  to  realize  the  manifold 
charm  the  work  of  art  has  gathered  into  itself  from  all 
sources,  and  to  interpret  this  charm  imaginatively  to  the 
men  of  his  own  day  and  generation. 

Backgrounds  of  Literature.  By  Hamilton  W.  Mabie.  (Mac- 
millan.) A  valuable  collection  of  autobiographies,  with 
charming  description  of  environment. 


INDEX 


Adams,  Professor  John,  5. 

Administration  and  Organization,  6, 
47-8,  no. 

Adolescence,  22-3,  108,  115-26. 

Esthetics,  72,  87,  166,  184,  198- 
202. 

Aim,  Stating  the,  55-6,  58. 

Alliteration,  71-8,  86-7,  90,  103-4. 

Analysis,  149-51. 

Anticipatory  Interest,  9-10. 

Apperception,  55-6. 

Applied  Art,  163-4. 

Appreciation  v.  Intellection,  1-2,  13, 

76,  91-3,  100-103,  1 21-3,  148-9. 

V.    Technique,    20-2,   101-2,    127, 

128-33,  137-8,  164,  194- 
Possibilities  of,  2,  48,  12 1-3. 

Arnold,  Matthew,  37. 

Arnold  of  Rugby,  99. 

Art  for  Art's  Sake,  Art  and  Morals, 
Art  and  Life,  Classicism  v.  Ro- 
manticism, Method  V.  Subject 
Matter,  22-7,  100-103,  108,  114, 
117-18,  151,  152-3.  168,  173, 
182-4. 

Assonance,  71. 

Aufgabe  (Problem,  Task),  i,  13,  58, 
8S-9,  92-3,  iio-ii,  156,  166. 

Axson,  Dr.  150-1. 

Bagley,  Professor  W.  C,  58. 
Balance,     Principle    of,     140,     142, 

144-5,  146,  169. 
Beauty  and  Utility,  151-2. 
Beethoven,  10,  21,  26,  104,  115-126, 

174- 
Berlioz,  183. 


Bible,  43-S,  64,  68,  72,  99-100. 
Biography,    58,    99-108,    114,    139, 

153-4- 
Boileaii,  167. 
Bosanquet,  27. 
Botany,  31-2. 
Botticelli,  141,  146,  150. 
Brown,  Ford  M.,  158. 
Browning,  1-2,  17-18,  27,  64,  83-  87. 
Bninclleschi,  162. 
Bunyan,  88. 
Byron,  76,  162. 

Campbell,  99,  100. 

Cervantes,  106-7. 

Classicism  v.  Romanticism.    See  Art 

for  Art's  Sake. 
Claude,  158. 
Cole,  Thomas,  27. 
Coleridge,  61-2. 
Collins,  Wilkie,  171. 
Cooke,  Mr.  E.  T.,  190. 
Copley,  158. 
Cousinet,    M .,     22-3,  39,    loi,    102, 

103,    148-51,    179,    181-5,    r88, 

193-5- 
Contrast,   Principle  of,   78-82,    116- 

21. 
Cow  per,  78-9. 
Crothers,  Samuel  McChord,  4. 

D'Alembert,  116. 

Dante,  106,  107. 

De  Garnio,  Professor,  27,  151-3,  179. 

Dewey,  Professor  J .,  13. 

Dickens,  38,  68,  150. 


231 


232 


INDEX 


Distraction,   Intellectual,  12-23,  39, 
142,  148-Q,  166. 

of  Technique,  17-20,  53. 

of  Business,  22-3. 

of  Interference,  135-6. 
Dow,  Gerard,  158. 
Dramas.     See  Epics. 
Dryden,  58,  72-3,  169. 

"Ear  before  Eye,"  18-22,  iii,  129, 

175- 
Elgin,  Lord,  162. 
Emerson,  153. 

Epics  and  Dramas,  108-12,  165-70. 
Ernst,  Otto  (Author  of  Flachsmann), 

56-9. 
Experiment,  Educational,  85-7. 
Expression.     See  Presentation. 

Familiarity,  49-50,  122,  202. 
Fechner,  201. 

Findlay,  Professor  J.  J.,  178. 
First  Impression.     See  Impression. 
Five    Steps    (or   Stages).     See  Her- 

bart. 
"Flash"   of   Interpretation,   etc.,   i, 

13- 
Fletcher,  33. 
Fort,  Paul,  38. 

Geography,  44,  75,  109. 

Girome,  145. 

Ghiberti,  162. 

Gilbert,  163. 

Giovenone,  159. 

Gluck,  119,  129-30. 

Goethe,  21. 

Gow,  157. 

Grey,  Lady  Jane,  99. 

Grove,  Sir  George,  115-26. 

Hall,  Professor  Stanley,  128,  179,  189, 

191. 
HaUam,  42. 
Handel,  119. 


Hardy,  Thomas,  171-2,  174. 
Herbart,  Herbartians,  the  Five  Steps, 

13.  54-S.  83-98,  13s,  180. 
Historj',  6. 
Hogarth,  147,  152. 
Homer,  33,  55,  181. 
Hugo,  Victor,  168,  181. 
Hunt,  Holman,  157,  189. 
Hunt,  William  M .,  27. 
Hypothesis-making,  13. 

Ibsen,  166,  168. 

Image,  Professor  S.,  179. 

Impression,   Principle  of  First,   2-8, 

13.  3Q.  133-4,  137,  167,  175- 
Principle    of    Total,    68-70.     See 
also  Unity. 

Intellectual  Elements  in  Apprecia- 
tion, 39.  See  also  Appreciation 
V.  Intellection. 

Interchange,  Principle  of,  147. 

Johnson,  Miss  Findlay,  109. 

Keatinge,  Mr.  M .  W .,  196. 
Keats,  34,  52-3. 
Kipling,  30,  64,  88. 

Lancaster,  61. 

Landscape,  141. 

Learning  by  Heart,  53,  94-7. 

Leit-motifs,  122-3. 

Leonardo  da  Vinci,  142,  144,  163. 

Leslie,  G.  D.,  159. 

Liddell,  Professor  Mark,  80. 

Life    and    Art.     See    Art    for    Art's 

sake. 
Literature,  16,  19,  47. 

Prose  t'.  Poetry,  27-38. 

Lyrics,  36-7. 
Longfellow,  a,  49,   66-7,   67-8,   70, 

73-  78,  79,  107. 
Lope  de  Vega,  107. 
Luini,  159. 
Lyrics.    See  Literature. 


INDEX 


233 


Macaulay,  21,  67,  6g,  81-2. 
McMurray,  Professor,  13. 
Macpherson,  Professor,  119,  128,  179. 
Maeterlinck,  31-2,  40. 
Memorization,  Laws  of,  96-7. 
Meredith,  George,  171,  i7S.  191  • 
Merejkowski,  163. 
Metaphors  and  Similes,  29-32,  40- 

49,  90,  112,  123. 
Meters  and  Feet.     See  Rhythm. 
Michael  Angela,  162. 
Millais,  15s,  157,  158. 
Millet,  143. 

Millward,  Mr.  H.,  178. 
Milton,  19,  28,  34,  40,  46,  SS.  73-5, 

76,  103-4,  105-6,  108-9. 
Mind  and  Mood,  57-9- 
Morals  and  Art.    See  Art  for  Art's 

Sake. 
More,  Sir  Thomas,  99. 
Morris,  William,  152,  164,  198. 
Mozart,  119. 

Murray,  Professor  Gilbert,  53. 
Music,    10,    16,    25,    49-50.    113-26 

127-39- 
Decorative  v.  Expressional,  25-7. 

Novels,  170-5. 

Orchardson,  158. 
Originality,  63,  117-18. 
Ornamentation,  159-61. 

Painting  and  Sculpture,    29-30,  38, 

92,  140-164. 
Parallelism,  72. 
Pericles,  161. 
Phidias,  160,  162. 
Piombo,  151,  158. 
"Pioneering    the    Metaphor."     See 

Metaphors. 
Poe,  Edgar  Allan,  59,  177. 
Poetry.     See  Literature. 
Poore,  Professor,  81,  140,  184. 
Pope,  28,  108. 


Praxiteles,  162. 

Preparation    of    the    Lesson,    9-12, 

15-17,  57.  94- 

Immediate,  51-60,  123-4. 

Negative,  15-17.  39- 

Positive,  39-50.  137.  139.  177- 
Presentation,  53,  61-82. 
Principality,       Principle       of.     See 

Unity. 
Principle   of   the   First   Impression. 

See  Impression. 
Problems.     See  Aufgabe. 
Prose.     See  Literature. 
Pyramidal  Arrangement,  142,  168-9. 

Radiation,  Principle  of,  147. 

Raphael,    141,  146,  158. 

Raymond,  Professor,  200-1. 

Red-letter   Lessons,  4-8,  47-8,  136. 

Refrain,  73. 

Rembrandt,  141,  142,  146,  159. 

Reni,  141. 

Repetition,    Principle   of,    72-3,    89, 

115-16,  130-1,  147- 
Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  14. 
Rhyme,  72. 

Rhythm,  32-8,  64-8,  72,  76.  78. 
Ritual,  a  School,  47,  136,  187-8. 
Rodin,  M,  163. 
Rolland,  M.  Romain,  loi. 
Rossetti,  155. 
Rubens,  147,  159. 
Ruskin,  40,  100,  122,  158. 

Saintsbury,  Professor,  38. 

Savonarola,  99. 

Schiller,  26. 

Schumann,  123. 

Science  Teaching,  3-4,  6. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  33. 

Shakspeare,  7,  26,  28,  32,  33,  34.  35. 
36,  41-3.  45.  46,  63-4.  69,  73, 
79-80,  87,  89,  109-12,  168. 

Shaw,  Mr.  Bernard,  25,  63-4,  73, 
loo-i,  128,  169. 


234 


INDEX 


Similes.    See  Metaphors. 

Smollett,  171. 

Sophocles  (CEdipus),  43. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  19. 

Spenser,  Edmund,  33. 

Stages  or  Steps  in  the  Lesson.     See 

Herbart. 
Statuar>',  161-3. 
Slerens,  163. 
Strayer,  Professor,  178. 
Strindberg,  168. 
Substance    v.    Form.     See    Art    for 

Art's  Sake. 
Swinburne,  19-20,  27,  76-8,  84,  88. 
Symbolism,  154-6. 
Sj-mmetry,  Principle  of,  147. 

Teacher.     See    Administration    and 

Red-letter  Lessons. 
"Tearing      and      Hacking."       See 

Unity. 
Technique,  place  of,  20-2.     See  also 

Distraction. 
Tennyson,  59,  105. 
Teresa,  Saint,  99. 
Tkorneycroft,  163. 
Time  Tests,  129-132. 
Tiichener,  Professor,  i,  13. 
Titian,  157. 
Turner,  154,  158. 


Unity  of  a  Work  of  Art,  Principle 
of  Unity  or  Principality,  The 
Unities,  13-14,  57,  121,  140- 
S.  ISO,  157.  167-70,  202. 

Van  Mieris,  158. 

Van  Ostade,  Isaac,  159. 

Variety,  Principle  of,  1 19-21. 

Vergil,  33,  55,  181. 

Verrocchio,  162. 

Von  Hartmann,  151. 

Wagner,  7,  10,  12,  15-16,  20,  25,  26, 
36,  51-2,  S3,  78,  82,  100,  114, 
116,  122,  126,  136. 

Walts,  George  F.,  21,  loo. 

Webster,  87. 

WeUs,  Mr.  H.  G.,  30,  32. 

Whistler,  140. 

Whitman,  Wall,  30,  38. 

Whittier,  37,  107. 

Wilde,  Oscar,  loi. 

Words,  Flavor  of,  71-8. 

Wordsworth,  79,  192. 

Wolton,  Sir  Henry,  86. 

Wouwerman,  159. 

Ycames,  156. 
ZiUtT,  54. 


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